


Tumbling Into Hell

by kattybats



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Abuse, Academia, Adoption, Angst, Archaeology, Aunts & Uncles, Bigotry & Prejudice, Birthday, Blood and Injury, Brainwashing, Castration, Children, Crucifixion, Dark gods, Deaf, Death Wish, Discussion of Abortion, Domestic Violence, Dwarf Courting, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Dwarf/Elf Relationship(s), Exorcisms, F/M, Fantastic Racism, Gang Rape, Gen, Graphic Description, Grief/Mourning, Half-orc, Human Sacrifice, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Interspecies Romance, Lobotomy, M/M, Medical Procedures, Mental Health Issues, Mpreg, Mutilation, News Media, Nonbinary Character, Orc Culture, Papa Wolf Kili, Possession, Pregnancy, Presumed Dead, Rape, Rituals, Secret Children, Self-Exile, Self-Mutilation, Single Parents, Stockholm Syndrome, Suicidal Thoughts, Supernatural Possession, Torture, Trauma, Vampires, Violence, Weird Dwarven Biology, the runestone is an egg
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-27
Updated: 2015-02-22
Packaged: 2018-02-27 04:37:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 23,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2679395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kattybats/pseuds/kattybats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short fics that initially come into being on Tumblr or the kink meme. Mainly a lot of sad things and weird headcanons. Each chapter rated separately.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [procellous](https://archiveofourown.org/users/procellous/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kili knows Ana is trouble, but he can't help himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kili/OFC  
> Rated M for graphic depictions of violence

He knows Ana is trouble, but he can’t help himself. She’s got hair like gold, and teeth like diamonds. Her beardless jawline is a novelty he can’t get enough of. He passes through her village guarding trade caravans often enough, and whenever they get a chance they sneak away for a tangle. He has to force himself not to remember how old she is, because if he does remember then he has to remind himself that sixteen is not a baby for men, but grown. He wants to drape her in blue silk and deck her with jewels, and he tells her this every time they meet.

He’s smitten, and old enough to admit it. Though he hasn’t told anyone, not even Fili. He doesn’t need more mocking about his undwarvish qualities, and it’s not like he could ever take her home with him. The villagers like the dwarves that pass through well enough, but they like them doing exactly that: passing through. Not carting off their young women to their own homes.

Ana loves him too, told him that she wished she could introduce him to her father. That if only he were a man they would be married already, and he told her it would be the same if she a dwarrowdam. (He leaves off explanations of the convoluted courting rituals that they would actually be partaking in – that is not pillow talk.)

“Are you okay?” he asks in concern this evening. The moonlight makes everything pale, but she seems paler than she should be.

“I am fine, my love,” she embraces him, resting her chin on his head. “And better than fine for seeing you.”

Kili laughs into her clavicle. “You have gotten far too used to towering over me. C’mere,” and he ducks out from under her and pulls her down into a kiss, wrapping his thick fingers in her wheat-colored hair. “Oh,” he says between pecks, “the braids – I would – give you.”

“And the sapphires you would weave into them,” Ana finishes for him, before capturing his lips again and thrusting her tongue into his mouth. It feels like no time at all before they are lying at the base of one of the many trees around them, his hands under her shirt and the laces of his trousers undone.

“Oh darling,” he murmurs, before removing his hands to push up her skirt. He plants kisses up and down her thighs, then works his way all the way up. His tongue darts out to lick between her folds, causing a delighted shriek.

“Kili!” she laughs, and reaches for his trousers. “Silly, something else goes  _there_.”

“Hmmm… perhaps you would like to… educate me?” he asks, moving his head over the rumpled skirt and biting at her navel between words, smirking up at her.

Ana’s look in the moonlight is lustful. “With  _pleasure_.” She frees his cock from his smallclothes and it stands erect even before she gives it a few long, slow strokes. “Now pay attention, Master Dwarf-”

“ _What is the meaning of this!_ ”

Kili jerks backwards, flailing, while Ana hurriedly pushes her skirt down, her eyes fixated on something behind Kili in terror. “Papa, no-!” and Kili turns his head and has just enough time to recognize the shovel as one he had repaired at a discount, the ungrateful bastard, before it collides with his face.

He’s pretty sure he heard something crack, but he couldn’t say for certain. Sound goes fuzzy and he’s seeing two of everything. Ana was screaming, probably. He recognizes those boots. They belong to Ana’s older brother.

Thorin’s not going to be happy when he hears about this.

The right side of his face feels strangely numb. Something, probably a foot, hits his exposed cock and the area erupts into pain. Someone grabs his wrists and starts dragging him through the woods, but for some reason he can’t make his limbs respond enough to resist. Ana’s still screaming, following and pleading.

He’s berating himself over how long it takes the men to drag him into the village,  _stupid, impatient, should have gone further out_. “Perapsss we could ta’k ‘bout ‘dis?” he slurs, his jaw not working correctly.

“Filthy dwarf,” Ana’s father spits at him.

There’s a crowd gathering, drawn by Ana’s screaming. “What’s going on?” one of the men asks.

“This  _creature_ ,” Ana’s brother interjects with a kick, “Had Ana’s skirt hiked up and his filthy paws all over her.”

“Please, he didn’t do anything, I  _love_  him-” Ana’s voice is cut off with the sound of a hard slap.

“He’s  _seduced_  you, tricked you with his magic. We never should have let them stay in the village!” The crowd nods and murmurs in agreement. Kili wonders how long it will be before the dwarves in the caravan notice the commotion and come to investigate.

“He must be taught a lesson!” one of the villagers cries out.

“Punish him!”

A young man steps forward carrying a hoe, and Kili realizes that he’d better pray his people arrive soon. He’s a young man whom Ana has complained about often as having his eyes on her. “He can’t be allowed to live! Not for touching Ana!”

“He shouldn’t even have hands for touching!”

Suddenly dozens of hands are grabbing for him, and he struggles against them. “Nonono, I  _nee’_  ma han’s-” and then there’s the crack of bone and  _screaming_.

When his vision stops whiting out he manages to turn his head and sees a pitchfork impaling his wrist and pinning it to the ground. The sight alone nearly makes him pass out, and he isn’t given time to recover before something else (a butcher’s knife) stabs through the palm of his other hand and pins it too to the ground. He kicks out blindly and is restrained. A blade slices his thigh as they roughly cut away his pants. It’s not until he feels hands on his cock that he realizes what they’re doing. “No, don’,  _please_ ,” he begs. His pleas turn into screams when a dull blade hacks away at his penis, followed by his testicles.

They pull the pitchfork and butcher’s knife out, and he can feel the blood dripping from his wounds. Then the beating starts. The man who fancies Ana gets the first hit in, the blade of his hoe gouging into Kili’s side. Others follow suit.

Everything hurts and he is covered in blood and his throat is ragged from screaming when another dwarf finally arrives.

* * *

His broken bones are set and his gashes stitched. Some of them have to be cauterized, including the one between his legs. A stick is pushed into his urethra, to keep the channel open while he heals. He’s woozy from blood loss and passes out halfway through treatment. They have nothing for the pain. It’s agony, during and after. He lies in one of the wagons, every jolt of the road bringing tears to his eyes.

Infection sets in two days out. He’s insensate when they arrive home, and doesn’t have to see his family’s faces when they hear what he did. When he wakes up, it’s to the sight of Fili helping Oin change his bandages. His brother looks sick to his stomach.

He’s helpless while his hands heal, and bedridden for two months until his broken legs can support him again. When he does walk again, it’s on crutches to support his weakened muscles and with Fili hovering at his side. No one has said anything, thinking his punishment more than enough, but Fili is the only one Kili knows is not judging him. Fili has helped him without censure, even when they realized he was not going to stop pissing himself and would have to physically plug it for the rest of his life.

“Why?” he asked early on, trying not to move his jaw. He’s discouraged from talking and on a soft diet until the fractures from the initial shovel wallop heal.

“Remember when I came home from a job with a broken tooth, and Oin had to pull it?”

“Yeah.” Kili remembered trying to get an in-pain Fili to open his mouth so he could see his new gold tooth.

“I lied about how I got it,” Fili said, and that explained everything.

Slowly Kili’s strength returns, and one night he’s sneaking out with his cane to use the privy, trying to be quiet, when he hears voices coming from behind the closed kitchen door.

“…Heard a rumor that might hurt us.” It’s Dwalin. He’s been away for a year. Kili didn’t know he was back.

“Oh?” Thorin asks.

“A daughter of men was raped by a dwarf. She fell pregnant and was stoned to death. That’s what I heard anyway.”

Thorin sighs. “I… think I know the incident.”

Kili drops his cane and his legs give out from under him. The sound of chairs sliding across the floor tells him that Thorin and Dwalin heard his crash, and the dark hallway is bathed in a soft light. He finds himself crying into Thorin’s chest, “No, not Ana… I’m sorry… I’m sorry.”

“I know Kili.” Thorin rubs his back, and Kili can feel his fingers catching on the scar tissue through his thin sleep shirt. “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was a very long discussion on the potential of Kili's sparse beard being because he was castrated. I am genuinely ashamed of the amount I have written on dwarf castration since that discussion. (So much. So, so much.)


	2. Kili/Orc 'verse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I have an urgent message for the King," the hooded dwarf told the guards at the front of the tent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A scene from a fic I'm not going to write but can't stop thinking about.
> 
> Rated T mainly for skeevy stuff happening between the lines.

Night had fallen when the hooded dwarf approached the tent. “I have an urgent message for the King,” they told the guards at the front, who let them by.

King Thorin, second of that name, and his companion Dwalin looked up at the dwarf’s entrance. The table before them was laid with maps and markers of the surrounding areas, including underground. “A message?” Thorin asked. “From whom does it come?”

The dwarf, without lowering their hood, reached into their coat and pulled out a leather envelope, handing it to Thorin. Thorin stepped back as he undid the ties and pulled out the message. His fingers tightened as he saw what was written there. A black line split the paper clean down the middle. On the left side, he could not read what was written but recognized it as Black Speech. On the right, Westron, presumably a translation of the Black Speech.

As he read the Westron his brow grew more furrowed, and his visage angrier. He reached the bottom and promptly crushed the paper in his hand. “What is the meaning of this!” he shook the paper at the messenger.

“It is a message for you,” the dwarf replied, unhelpfully.

“And  _how_ , pray tell, did you get  _your_  hands on it?” Thorin growled, shoving the paper at Dwalin so that he too could read it.

“From the sender,” the dwarf replied again.

“From  _Bolg_ ,” Thorin spat the Orc King’s name, looking for confirmation.

“Yes.”

“And  _what_  were you doing in the company of Bolg?”

“Serving him.”

A jerk of Thorin’s head had Dwalin slamming the paper down onto the table and approaching the strange dwarf with long strides. He grabbed them roughly and tore off their hood, revealing intricately braided blond hair and a face not seen by the two of them for many years.

Dwalin’s hands fell from the dwarf’s shoulders in shock. Thorin staggered back, falling into the empty chair behind him. “What witchcraft is this?” he gasped, unable to breathe.

“It is no witchcraft, Uncle,” Fíli said softly.

Thorin shook his head slowly, unable to comprehend the sight before him. “You… are dead.  _Fíli_  is dead. Over twenty years ago, my nephew’s patrol was  _wiped out_. You cannot be him.”

Fíli ducked his head. “I watched what happened to my dwarves. I can understand how you would think that.”

“If you are truly him,” Dwalin spoke up, “Then tell us how you survived.”

Fíli swallowed and nodded deeply once, looking up. “We were outnumbered and had no chance. They killed my dwarves and mutilated their bodies, but recognized me and took me captive. I was… tortured. But when they brought me before Bolg, he decided that I should live. I have been part of his household ever since.”

“And now you are his errand-boy,” Thorin accused.

Fíli shrugged. “An orc could not have walked through your camp the way I did.”

Thorin pushed himself to his feet and took halting steps forward. Slowly he reached out and put a hand against Fíli’s bearded cheek. “Look at you,” he breathed, eyes searching. “Surely an apparition would have shown me what I remembered. But your beard is not trimmed short, and there are lines on your face that you did not have twenty-two years ago.”

“Not an apparition, Uncle,” Fíli smiled reassuringly.

“And you smile again! A lie would have mimicked what you were, a sorrowful dwarf, but you are alive, and living!” Thorin pulled Fíli’s forehead to his, not bothering to stop the tears. “Oh my nephew. Oh my nephew,” he repeated.

Fíli too was crying as he wrapped his arms around Thorin. “I never thought to see you again before we met in the Halls as well, Uncle.”

Dwalin let Thorin and Fíli embrace, before pulling Fíli into a hug of his own. “Mahal, Fíli,” was all he could say. “Mahal.”

“But how?” Thorin finally asked. “Why now? If you have been Bolg’s slave, how is it that he now allows you to go free?”

Fíli shook his head. “You presume that I am his slave, but I am not. I live in his household. I am part of his family. He had not allowed me to go free, because I have always been free.”

“I don’t understand.”

Fíli nodded at the table. “The letter I bring is legitimate. Those are his true intentions. He and his council know that if this war continues, you will be victorious. They wish to avoid further bloodshed and come to an accord.”

“Trickery. All orcs know is bloodshed.”

Fíli sighed. “You are wrong, Uncle. I have lived with them for twenty-two years. Listen to me.”

Thorin glowered. “And even if it wasn’t, I owe it to shed their blood. I have waged this war in your name. I have waged it for all those who lost their lives that day in front of Erebor.” He pulled Fíli’s forehead to his again, and closed his eyes. “I wage it for your brother, and what you became afterwards.”

“And what was that battle waged for?” Fíli responded. “But for anger over Gandalf’s killing of the Great Goblin. As well, Bolg hated you for the death of his father.”

“Who killed my grandfather.”

“It is a cycle, you see?” Fíli fixed his uncle with a look. “And if you dare to say anything as childish as that they started it, I shall have to smack you. I have gotten much practice in dealing with unruly children, and I can easily recognize variations on that.”

“Where in Mahal’s name would you find unruly children living with orcs?” Dwalin grunted.

Fíli’s face softened. “Bolg and his mate have seven. Soon eight, if all goes well.”

“So you’re their nanny.”

“Actually they call me Uncle, and they are my nieces and nephews.” Fíli’s face darkened in Thorin’s direction. “And Mahal help me Thorin, I have not taken a side but if they are ever threatened I would not hesitate to kill dwarves.”

Thorin was skeptical. “You would take up arms to defend orclings?”

“They are not just orclings. I have held four of them before they were even a day old. I care for them, very deeply.” Fíli took a deep breath. “Thorin. Please at least consider treating with them.”

Thorin stepped away, looking towards the crumpled message on the table. “Never.”

“Thorin!”

Dwalin grabbed Fíli’s arm. “Fíli, lad, listen to yourself. You’re pleading on behalf of _orcs_. Have you forgotten how many members of our family they’ve killed?”

Fíli jerked his arm out of Dwalin’s grasp. “I am no lad, not anymore. I’m 117. I have not forgotten anything, but I am more than capable of choosing what to fight for. I can and will fight for those children.”

“I will not treat with orcs.”

Fíli stood straight, a set to his jaw. “Then we have nothing more to talk about.” He turned on his heel.

“And where are you going?”

“Back to my King.”

Dwalin quickly grabbed him again. “You are  _not_.”

Thorin nodded. “We shall have another cot brought into my tent. I refuse to let you go back to the orcs.”

Fíli tried again to break out of Dwalin’s hold, but this time the larger dwarf held tight. “I will not willingly stay. You will have to make me your prisoner.”

“Fíli,  _listen_  to yourself,” Thorin pleaded. “You’re not well. There’s no other explanation for the words coming out of your mouth.”

“I’m perfectly fine! We’re trying to avoid further war and you’re not listening,” Fíli grew angry.

“You and who? Bolg! I do not know what lies he has fed you to make you believe he wants peace, but they are a deceit. The Fíli I remember would know this.” Thorin looked pained. “The Fíli I remember would not forget his brother’s sacrifice like this.” He looked away. “Dwalin, I can’t listen to this any more.”

Thorin did not look up even as the sounds of resistance met his ears. “Dwalin… I…  _listen_ …”

“Don’t make this any harder, Fíli.”

“Kíli is alive!”

Thorin wheeled. “ _What!_ ”

“Look at the letter!” Fíli gestured wildly. “Who do you think wrote the translation? That is not my handwriting!”

Shaking hands spread the missive out again on the table. Thorin stared beyond what the words said, at the letters themselves. And Mahal, it felt like being stabbed. Kíli’s handwriting stared up at him. “Is this… your prison?” he asked unsteadily. “Is this how Bolg has kept you loyal? Imprisoning your brother?”

Fíli shook his head. “I have always assumed that Kíli was a prisoner in the beginning. But by the time Bolg spared me, that was no longer the case. I thought I had succumbed to my injuries and gone to the Halls when I saw him, Thorin. But neither of us reside in the Halls of our Maker. He is no prisoner either, and over the years I have seen why Kíli chooses to stand beside Bolg.

“I will never be loyal to Bolg. But I will stand beside my brother against everyone any day. And Kíli would mourn Bolg, and so I bring you their plea for peace.”

Thorin felt ill. “There is… a sickness of the mind…”

“And if that were all it was, I would be dead with Kíli none the wiser,” Fíli argued. “Bolg spared me because he wants Kíli to be happy. They care for each other Thorin, I have seen it.”

“And what will happen to him if you do not return?”

“Nothing,” Fíli answered. “We always knew that it would be a possibility. Bolg and his council know that it is a long shot. If you refuse to consider a peace treaty, and I am kept prisoner with you, then… well, then we probably won’t see each other again. As soon as he is well enough to travel Kíli and the children are to be sent away from the fighting, to a stronghold that the orcs aren’t struggling to keep.”

Thorin’s head jerked up. “Kíli is ill?”

“Kíli is pregnant,” Fíli corrected. “And once he is safely somewhere else and Khazad-dûm is broken, it will be highly unlikely that I will be able to rejoin him. But it’s still theoretically possible that your army could break through before the birth. If that happens, things will be…” he grimaced. “Ugly.”

Thorin shook his head, looking down at his maps, calculating. “Ugly or not, we have to try.”

“Have you been listening to a word I’ve said? Kíli doesn’t need to be rescued. Kíli doesn’t  _want_  to be rescued.”

Dwalin shook Fíli. “Are you saying he  _wants_  to stay and be Bolg’s broodmare?”

Thorin opened his mouth to ask Dwalin what he was talking about, but then it hit him as if a physical blow.  _Soon eight. Uncle. Not just orclings_. He gripped the table in order to stay upright. “Mahal, we cannot leave him there.”

“Uncle!”

Thorin’s head jerked up to look at Fíli, still struggling in Dwalin’s hold. “You’re not well, Fíli,” he said quietly. “But we’ll rescue your brother, and take you both back to Erebor. You’ll see your mother again. She’ll be so happy to see you both. And when you’re better, you’ll understand that this is for the best.”

“I’m not mad, Thorin,  _you’re making a mistake!_ ”

For the rest of his life, Thorin would never forget the sound of his own nephew cursing him in the Black Speech.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kili is smarter than anyone thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated G.  
> The prompt was "Kili, cuttlefish". Cuttlefish: smarter than anyone thought.

Kili, unlike his esteemed elders, had a great deal of respect for wizards.

Also, he wasn’t stupid. He knew that that farmhouse had been too recently abandoned, that farmhouses out in the wild don’t just ‘burn down’, and that even if it  _had_  there wasn’t the sort of debris you would expect to find.

Something had gone down, and not too far off in the distant past either. If whatever had attacked wasn’t just some roving band of marauders, then they were probably still around. And if they were still around… well then. They were fighters every one of them, but they could still go from sleeping to fighting only so fast. He didn’t fancy having his neck slit in the night because whatever it was managed to get past the watch, either.

Fili, the loyal idiot, of course deferred to Thorin’s greater expertise, regardless of how many times Kili pointed out that Thorin wasn’t actually  _using_  his greater expertise. So of course when Kili thought perhaps he heard something, instead of telling Fili he decided to pick a fight with his brother. Fili wouldn’t have listened to him if he  _had_  said he’d heard something, and hopefully the sound of two dwarves arguing would draw whatever it was out.

He will admit, he may have gotten a  _little_  too into it. And, well, stopped paying attention to the ponies. And okay, so trolls probably wouldn’t have been able to sneak past the watch and slit his throat, but in his defense he hadn’t known they were trolls. And it was because of him that they weren’t asleep when the trolls came upon them (or vice-versa, as the case was), so there.

And he did not have worms in his tubes! His tubes were full of good strong dwarvish sperm thank you very much!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Literally everyone writes about the pony scene, _but there is a reason literally everyone writes about the pony scene_.


	4. Khali 'verse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kili is dead, and Fili is left with the consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kili/Tauriel  
> Rated T
> 
> Quote me:  
> "WHAT IF  
> OKAY  
> WHAT IF RUNESTONES  
> ARE DWARF EGGS  
> OR ARE OTHERWISE INVOLVED IN DWARVEN FERTILITY RITES  
> LIKE MAYBE THEY FIST THE ROCK  
> MAYBE KILI GETTING TAURIEL TO TOUCH HIS RUNESTONE WAS A MAJOR COUP  
> MAYBE DWARVES, LIKE, SEAL THEIR SEMEN IN RUNESTONES OR SOMETHING"
> 
> There was so much discussion, "the runestone baby" is a tag all on its own. There will be more of this.

He wanted the sweet embrace of death. To follow his brother into the Halls, to never be separated, just as he had promised. If he could not have that, he at least wanted the hazy nearly-oblivion he had had while they worked on him, stitching his wounds and setting his leg. He knew that without the elvish healers, he would be dead. He wished they hadn’t bothered. As the drug they had given him to keep him still wore off, sharp pains started making their way through the all-encompassing ache, until they consumed him and became yet another reason to wish he hadn’t survived.

He wanted to cry out, to mourn loud and clear until everyone knew his pain. But his healing lung and his station wouldn’t allow it. Princes did not mourn. Princes continued on despite the hardships. Princes were leaders where others failed. Princes did not cry. Princes shouted war cries as they ran into battle.

Princes died for their king.

Fili had not yet seen Thorin. Apparently his wounds were even more severe than his own, and they did not know yet whether or not he would succumb to infection. He had seen the rest of the Company though, their cuts and bruises and breaks. They had all come to offer their condolences, but could never stay long as there was always something else to be done.

When Balin came in and pulled a stool up next to Fili’s cot, his heart shuddered. “Fili… something has come up.”

Fili turned his head on the pillow to look straight at the older dwarf. “Is it Thorin?” he asked quietly, trying not to move his mouth too much and pull on the stitches on his jaw.

Balin shook his head. “No, no. Your uncle regains his strength. This is… it’s about Kili.”

Fili closed his eyes. “The funeral.”

“Lord Dain is arranging everything. But we found something on his… him. And there’s something we need to know.”

“What?”

Balin took a deep breath. “In… that is. Was… was Kili courting anyone? In Ered Luin?”

Fili opened his eyes and furrowed his brow, frowning. “No, I… I don’t think so.” Granted, he and that elf had seemed to share something, but that didn’t mean anything. Not to dwarves. “But it is not beyond the realm of possibility. Why? What did you find?” Balin reached into his pocket and pulled out something wrapped in a scrap of cloth. He unfolded the cloth and held out Kili’s runestone. “Amad gave that to him,” Fili explained.

“Listen to it,” Balin instructed. So Fili stiffly reached out a hand and placed it over Balin’s, the runestone sitting snugly between them.

He reached into himself to find his stonesense and interpret what the stone was telling him. There was Amad’s love and worry, her reminder to return. There was Kili, his excitement and youth and love and… fear? And there was a third presence, one he didn’t recognize. It felt like white light and green things and hesitance and rule-breaking. It intertwined with Kili’s, feeding into…

Fili’s hand fell away. “ _What is that?_ ” he whispered.

“A baby,” Balin replied grimly. “Your brother had started shaping a newborn.”

Fili’s head rolled away, mind reeling. “He wouldn’t,” but even as he said it he knew it was wrong. Kili  _would_. If there was a dam, in secret, back in Ered Luin, that Kili was head over heels for, and he was scared of dying and wanted to leave something for her, the impulsive idiot would. Never mind the consequences, never mind that it would make him responsible for another  _life_ -

Another life that others were now responsible for. “Who…” Fili trailed off, not entirely sure what he was asking.

“We’ve all discussed it,” Balin responded. “None of us can think of who the other parent might be. And even if we did know, they’re still on the other side of the Misty Mountains.” Balin took Fili’s hand and put it back on the runestone, sandwiching them between his own. “That leaves you Fili.”

Fili tugged his arm ineffectually. “I’m too young,” he protested.

Balin nodded. “That was part of our discussion. But you’re the closest known living relative, both in blood and physical distance. If your amad were here we would give it to her, but she’s not.”

“I can’t,” Fili whispered, unable to tear his eyes away from their clasped hands. It felt like his stonesense was shouting at him,  _baby baby BABY_. It was as if the runestone was starved for attention, crying out to be fed with bits of his soul. It recognized him as being similar to part of it. It had been four days since the battle; when was the last time it had been shaped?

Balin sighed. “It is understandable if you do not want to take on this burden. You are young. And if we do locate the other parent and they claim no desire, things could get… contentious.”

Fili narrowed his eyes. “Just what are you accusing my brother of, Balin?”

“I am accusing him of nothing. I am merely pointing out that the worst-case scenario is your brother being posthumously exiled for breaking one of our greatest laws.”

Fili suppressed a shudder. His brother’s tomb would be defiled, he and the rest of his family would have to publicly denounce him or face censure themselves, and the child would grow up with the shadow of their conception hanging over them.

“The weave is still loose, Fili,” Balin told him. “It’s still early enough to undo it, if you do not feel like you can do this, that you do not want to take that risk.”

Fili, experimentally, sent a tendril into the runestone. The little wad of mixed souls latched onto it, rolling around and wrapping itself in it like a blanket. Some more of Kili and the other parent got wrapped up with him, and if it could he would swear that it would be humming happily, oblivious to the discussion about its termination. Fili tightened his fingers around the runestone –  _his brother’s child_  – and with that thought the dam broke. He gently took it and cradled it to his chest, feeling tears drip down the side of his face to pool in the hollows of his ears. “I can’t…” he choked. “If this… if this is to be it, if this is to be all I have left of him…”

Balin put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “The child will be loved, Fili, no matter what happens. This I can guarantee you.”

Fili nodded, continuing to feed the runestone –  _egg, it’s an egg now_  – his soul. It was insatiable, and he barely noticed Balin leaving. He was too caught up in the shaping. It was something that dwarflings practiced from the moment their stonesense fully developed. Listening to the stone and hearing what it had to say, what rumors it told. Leaving images and messages for each other in the rocks, putting into a stone their feelings for a loved one and gifting it as a talisman. Learning to recognize their own touch and others’. Later, learning to influence it to crack a certain way when carved, or how to encourage a mine not to collapse. To shape it.

All of this was practice for the ultimate craft: to create a child out of the rock with any spouses you might have. And practice was needed. Inexperience brewed horror stories of children born with malformed limbs or no limbs at all, twins not fully separated, babies so deformed they could not survive past a few hours or days.

Fili was too young, but Balin was right: he was the closest living relative. So he would just have to do the best he could.


	5. Kili/Orc 'verse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Azog reminds Kili that it is their daughter's third birthday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kili/Azog  
> Rated T for domestic abuse and again, references to really skeevy things.
> 
> So one of the reasons this fic will never get written is that it is so incredibly multiple choice. This scene is from early in its development, and really the only thing that's the same is that Kili has Stockholm syndrome and eventually eight half-orc kids. A lot of the differences stem from the fact that it started out combo canon and then became strictly book canon. Vital differences that you should know right off the bat:
> 
> \- Kili was captured by Azog, not Bolg. See: combo canon vs. book canon.  
> \- In the scene where Fili meets with Thorin, Kili was captured at the Battle of Five Armies. In this one, Kili was captured 35 years before the Quest. If Kili had appeared in the previous scene he would've been 112. In this scene, he's only 51.

Kili bit his lip as he tugged the comb through his wild son’s wild hair. “How do you keep doing this? It’s ridiculous.”

“You did it,” Ashthûn replies petulantly.

“This is  _not_  my hair, it’s  _your_  hair, so take responsibility for it. You’re going to have to comb it yourself someday.” Kili pauses and grunts, rubbing at his swollen stomach. “This one is lively. Maybe you’ll get another little brother or sister this time.”

Ashthûn wrinkles his nose, but before Kili can say anything the door to their chambers opens. Ashthûn quickly jumps up and Kili is slower, both of them bowing their heads respectfully. “Welcome home, husband.”

“I’m welcomed, Kili,” Azog greets in return.

“Welcome home _Krank_.”

“Good boy.” Azog eyes Kili. “You don’t have to stand for me when it’s so hard, _yûlal_.”

Kili looks up, not sure he heard right. “Husband?” The only reason a _maaz_ will not demand such respect from their _yûlal_ is if their _yûlal_ can’t physically stand. Kili isn’t even a proper _yûlal_ , but a _hru gazat_ , and that Azog deigns to call him such these days is more than anyone ever expected.

Azog nods. “You’ve been with us ten years now. You’re stronger than I thought when I first took you, small and weak and screaming. Our children are strong, and I want you to give me more before you die.” Kili smiles his thanks as he eases himself back into his chair. “Where’s Grishlûl?”

“Napping.”

Azog reaches into the pouch at his belt. “This’ll wait. Do you remember that she is three today?”

Kili shakes his head. “I have lost some days since her last birthday.”

Azog cups his chin. “Maybe someday you’ll accept us fully, and stop retreating into yourself. But just because Grishlûl is napping doesn’t mean I can’t give these to you and Ashthûn now.”

“A present!” Ashthûn lights up. “ _Narnûlubat_ , Krank!”

Azog pulls out a tiny leather bag and hands it to Kili, who opens it and shakes it over his hand. A few mithral hair clasps fall out, and he looks up in confusion. “Husband?”

“I know you have been despairing of our son’s hair. I don’t know how many you need, so I just grabbed many.”

Kili holds one of the clasps up and studies it. It’s one of the finest things he’s ever seen, pure mithral and bearing the marks of the old royalty of Khazad-dûm. “How many for what?”

Azog twists a few fingers in Kili’s hair. “You are of Durin’s line. Our children are rulers twice over. I would see that Durin’s line belongs to me. I know you dwarves show it in your hair. These are for your hair, and our children’s.”

Kili finds himself smiling widely. He hadn’t dared braid his hair these past many years, unsure of how Azog would take it. It will be nice to feel their weight again, to not have to constantly be pushing his hair out of his face. “ _Narnûlubat_ , husband. Ashthûn, would you like me to braid your hair?”

“No!” Kili and Azog both stare at their oldest, Azog raising a threatening brow. “I’m not a dwarf scum!”

The sound of Kili’s slap echoes in the chamber. “How dare you! Where did you hear that?”

“ _Krank_ said we gotta hate dwarf scum!”

Kili can’t confront Azog about that. Not now, not as pregnant as he is, with a baby that will probably live if he does not invite punishment. He knows Azog would not want to punish him either, but his honor would demand it. But he can continue to be angry at Ashthûn. “And what does that make me?” he demands.

“You’re not a dwarf!”

“What do you think dwarves look like?”

Ashthûn, the stupid boy, holds his ground. “Dwarves are short and fat and braid their hair and have beards and if they see you they kill you!”

Kili was still young, and was in ill health enough that he despaired of ever filling out properly. Despite his health he had grown since coming to Khazad-dûm, and though he had no one to compare it to he knew he was tall for a dwarf. He had been too young during his first pregnancy, and the changes to his body had interrupted the growth of his beard, and of course he didn’t wear any braids. “I am a dwarf, and you are half dwarf, and you will never say those words again!”

“You’re lying!”

“Enough!” Azog roars. “You will do as he says, you will submit to him and you will have your hair braided because I want you to!”

In another room, Grishlûl wakes and starts shouting, “ _Krank_!”

Kili heaves himself out of his chair, depositing the bag on the table carelessly causing the clasps to scatter. “You’re grounded,” he growls as he stalks out of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Black Speech translations:  
> \- Krank: father  
> \- Yûlal: lesser  
> \- Maaz: better  
> \- Hru gazat: fertile dwarf  
> \- Narnûlubat: Orcish expression of thanks
> 
> I've put a lot of thought into how orc marriage and family life works in this 'verse. It's very hierarchical and depends on how much power each member wields within the greater community. The tradition of _hru gazat_ was started by the orc equivalent of basement-dwelling cheeto-eaters and eventually became in vogue in the greater society, especially for second marriages.


	6. Khali 'verse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kili/Tauriel  
> Rated T

Khali has three parents: their Adad, their Adad-who-is-not-there, and their probably-Amad.

Their Adad is the only parent they’ve ever known. They have their Umad and their Udadiths, but their Adad is theirs and they are his. It is their Adad who cuddles them, fusses over them, and scolds them. He is always so serious, but gives them secret smiles only for them. They learn to pay attention to whether he is favoring his leg before jumping into his arms. He is the one who holds them with their head tucked under his chin so they can feel him humming to them. Once he fell asleep sitting like that when Khali was very young. They reached up and splayed their fingers over the scars on his jaw, wondering at the size of the paw that must have made them. As soon as their fingers landed, Adad jerked awake and they never did that again.

Their Adad is so sad, all the time. Their Udadiths tell them that he used to play the fiddle, and laugh, and get into as much trouble as Khali, him and-

And then they stop. Khali isn’t that old when they figure out that they’re talking about their Adad-who-is-not-there.

These are the things Khali knows about their Adad-who-is-not-there:

  * he was tall like them,
  * his beard came in late like theirs,
  * his hair was dark like theirs,
  * he played the fiddle,
  * he laughed,
  * he got into trouble,
  * he is buried under the Mountain,



and

  * he makes everyone sad.



One year for their birthday, Khali asked Ori-udadith to draw a picture of him. Ori-udadith gave the drawing to them the day after their birthday, signing that he didn’t want to upset anyone. They keep it folded between the pages of a book underneath their pillow, so that they can take it out and look at it in the dead of night.

As they grow older, most of their Udadiths start to tell them more about their Adad-who-is-not-there. But never Umad, never Thorin-udadith, or Balin, Dwalin, Oin, or Gloin-udadiths.

Adad only tells them about their other Adad when he is deep into his cups. It is one of those nights when Khali learns about their probably-Amad; that they have another parent that no one knows who they are but that they’re probably an Amad because Adad-who-is-not-there liked dams. It is another night, before that one, before they learned to read that they learned that they were named after their Adad-who-is-not-there, because no one had yet said his name in front of them.

One day Adad sits them down, like all parents do, to tell them about the stone sense. That soon their awareness of the stone would open up, and the stones would tell them things about themselves, where they were from, what were their flaws, who had worked them previously, and that they would begin to practice shaping and guiding the stones.

"LIKE TREES?" they signed.

Their Adad had stopped short. “WHAT TREES?”

"ALL TREES TELL ME THINGS."

"SINCE WHEN?"

"ALWAYS."

Adad takes them straight outside and sits them down in front of a tree. He asks what the tree is telling them. They tell him that the tree says that it is young, and that the ground is damp, and that soon it will lose its leaves. Adad tells them that anyone would know that, and that they weren’t actually talking to the tree. Khali sulks. They were too talking to the tree.

Adad takes them back to the royal apartments and leaves them there. He’s gone for a long time. When he comes back, it’s with Oin-udadith. They talk without signing, and Khali can’t understand what they’re saying. Then Oin-udadith crouches down in front of them and starts asking about the trees. Khali tells him all about the trees.

Oin-udadith talks to Adad some more, who slumps down on the settee with his head in his hands. Khali can tell that Oin-udadith is trying to be comforting so they climb into Adad’s lap to try and comfort him as well, though they don’t know why he’s upset. Adad ends up holding them tight.

Oin-udadith leaves, but Adad doesn’t let go of them. He starts rocking a little, and Khali tucks their head under his chin to feel his humming. That’s when they figure out what’s wrong. They pull back and sign, “YOU SHAPE ME GOOD.”

Adad shakes his head. “I SHAPE YOU BAD.”

"I GOOD. YOU SHAPE ME  _GOOD_. IF BAD, NOT WANT GOOD. ADAD GOOD, NOT WANT OTHER.”

That’s the first time they see their Adad cry. “NOT MEAN LIKE THAT,” they quickly sign. “YOU GOOD ADAD. WANT OTHER ADAD, AMAD. ALSO WANT YOU. YOU SHAPE ME GOOD. NO HEAR PEOPLE, HEAR TREES. NO PROBLEM. SILLY ADAD.”

Adad chokes, and says something. He stops crying, and that night he lets Khali sleep in his bed with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khali is deaf. They were born with deformed ears, which Fili blamed himself for until he figured out that Tauriel is their mother.


	7. Elf 'verse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time Kili had come home crying because someone called him _mibilkhags_ , Dis had sat them both down and explained the elf blood that ran in some families.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated T
> 
> Blame procellous for the idea that Fili and Kili are a little bit elvish. Everything else is on me. Which they were very keen to remind me of.

Dwarves do not easily burn. They have a higher tolerance for hot metal than the other races do, and do not panic like them if their clothes catch fire. A singe from a stray spark does not even register to them.

Elves burn like wood, it is said.

“ _Kâmnul damâm!_ ” one of the dwarrows shouted out. Kili darted a look over his shoulder. Ingi. Once a favored playmate. How times changed.

Fili tugged on his sleeve. “Ignore them.”

Something hit the back of Kili’s coat. “ _Amadzu naizlifi zars!_ ”

Kili jerked his sleeve out of Fili’s grasp as he spun around. He quickly saw the hot coal that had been thrown and lobbed it back at Ingi and his friends. He let out a yelp when Fili grabbed hold of his arm and started dragging him away from the altercation waiting to happen.

As soon as they were out of earshot of the dwarrows Kili ground his feet into the dirt. “Fili! Are you just going to let them get away with that?”

Fili sighed, tugging gently on Kili’s hair. “And giving them the beating they deserve is going to do what? You would be striking cold iron.”

“Well  _I_  would feel better,” Kili groused.

It had been different once. After the Fall of Erebor, when there was so little to go around, dwarves hadn’t cared about bloodlines. All they cared about was whether they could help each other survive. It had helped that very few of the _'idmâm khazâd_  had escaped Erebor in the first place. But as the Ered Luin settlements grew and prospered, the old prejudices started to come back. And Fili and Kili were suffering for it.

The first time Kili had come home crying because someone called him  _mibilkhags_ , Dis had sat them both down and explained it. They were not so young as all that, so Dis had not had to use childish metaphors. She could use the hard words to tell them about the elf blood that ran in some families. That even in the prosperity of Erebor, their father’s family had lived in a ghetto because of something that had happened thousands of years ago.

Dis had found Fili sitting up, long after Kili had fallen asleep, fingering his blond hair. “Other dwarves don’t have hair like ours. Just ‘Adad,” he said.

Dis pulled him into her arms. “There are some,” she told him. “But you’re right, not many.”

“Is this why we’re elves?”

Dis sighed. “It is true that your hair stands out. But it does not make you elves, no matter what others say. You and your brother are dwarves, and you must never forget that.”

“But you said-”

“The law says that any with a drop of elvish blood are elves, but the law is not always right. Look at you,” she comforted. “Are you tall like an elf? Do you have pointy ears? No. You are of a perfectly decent height and have big, strong hands and the most dwarvish nose I have ever seen.” She tweaked said nose for emphasis. “The law is not always right. You and your brother are dwarves, and anyone who says differently is wrong.”

Fili wrinkled his nose. “But if the law is wrong then why hasn’t Thorin-udadith changed it?”

Dis pulled him tight again. “Oh Fili. If only things were that simple.”

After that, Fili started braiding his hair obsessively, and dedicated himself to his studies. He threw himself into a forging apprenticeship and excelled in training. He remembered the circumstances of their father’s death better than Kili, and after Dis told them the truth he had thought long and hard about what he remembered and came to some very unpleasant conclusions. Conclusions he’d vowed never to tell Kili.

The brothers got home after the incident with Ingi and his friends to Dis and Thorin arguing, standing over the kitchen table. “The Council wants this, they’re all but demanding it,” Thorin was declaring.

“What they  _want_ ,” Dis spat, “Is to  _torture my sons_.”

“It’s not torture Dis, it’s an old practice that will reaffirm faith in our line.”

“ _Id-farf mi liwîz_ ,” Fili deduced, letting Dis and Thorin know they were there. “They want us to prove we have enough dwarf in us to sit on the throne.”

“In a manner that is barbaric and I won’t allow,” Dis continued the argument, gesturing widely. “Do you hear me Thorin? I won’t allow them to burn my sons!”

“I won’t burn,” Kili spoke up, drawing all attention. He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “That is… there have been enough accidents in the forge… I’m pretty sure I won’t burn.”

Thorin rolled his eyes but used the fuel given to him. “They won’t burn. This will just reaffirm what we already know.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s not painful. And you can’t know that they won’t burn.”

“Dis,” Thorin reasoned, “Very few who undergo the trial burn, and it has been this way for hundreds of years. It is highly unlikely that Fili and Kili will not pass.”

Fili interrupted. “’Amad, just today on the way home someone threw a hot coal at us, and Kili threw it right back. Let us do this.”

Dis shook her head. “You don’t know what you’re asking. You don’t know that you won’t burn.”

“They won’t burn Dis. No one burns these days, it’s practically just a formality.”

“ _Vili burned!_ ” Dis shouted, startling all. Silence fell.

“When?” Thorin asked quietly.

Dis slumped into the chair behind her. “’Adad. Before he left. Did you never wonder why Vili stopped seeing me for a time, and then came back after you inherited? After he burned, ‘Adad forbade him from coming near me.”

Thorin swallowed. “Well, Fili and Kili are not their father. And we do not have a choice in the matter. The Council demands it of them. Refusing is just as bad as failing.”

That was when Fili and Kili realized that Thorin was against it too.

“If they pass, they will be forsaking their father,” Dis said softly. “Vili burned. Do you understand, boys? The test is meant to prove that somewhere between the elf and the dwarf the lineage is a lie, no matter that it is diluted down now to where most will not burn regardless of family line.” She looked at Thorin. “If they prove that they are dwarves they will be  _bin’adad_  and I will be  _binarzâm_. Do you understand Thorin? There is no way we win.”

“We have no choice,” Thorin repeated.

* * *

Two days later, Fili and Kili were called to the council halls. Thorin stood beside them, stone-faced, as they proceeded through the formalities before the test. Their lineage was stated, and that was when they found out that the Council knew about Vili’s burning.

“You, Fili Viliul and Kili Viliul, have decided to undergo  _id-farf mi liwîz_  in order to prove your blood true.” Fili kept his face flat, but Kili showed his feelings on the white beard’s word choice plainly. “If you pass, you prove false the family line between yourselves and Vili Giliul. If you fail, you forfeit any claim to dwarven titles. Are these terms acceptable?”

If looks could kill, Kili would have the white beard dead to rights. Fili settled for sneering. Dis was right. There was no way to win this. Dis was not faithless and Vili was their father, and everyone in Ered Luin knew that. If nothing else, both of them had inherited his golden hair and Kili had his eyes as well. But as time passed, what details would survive? Fili and Kili would pass, there was no question of that. But would history remember them as Vili’s sons, or vilify Dis and call them her bastards?

They were split up for the trial. In a small room, Kili was made to strip off his top layers until he was standing in only his boots and trousers, bare-chested. He lay down on his stomach on the stone floor, shivering slightly. He heard one of the white beards poking around in the fireplace, looking for some good coals. The scrape of the small shovel as he picked a few up.

Kili hissed when the coals were placed on his bare back. He grit his teeth and scrunched up his watering eyes. He knew that if he were not a dwarf, this would be going much worse. As it was, the burn would simply redden and blister like any other, and in a year or so no one would even be able to tell he’d gone through  _id-farf mi liwîz_.

Then, Fili screamed.

* * *

Fili had been burned so badly he could not stop crying. The very first thing Oin did was give him something to drink to knock him out and put him out of his misery. For the better part of a week he came out of the drugged sleep only to eat and relieve himself, and then was put back under.

After it healed, his back was webbed mess of melted skin. Both dwarves understood now why they had never seen their father shirtless. As soon as Fili could stand it being touched, every day Dis rubbed it with a cream Oin had provided. Once it no longer pained him Dis showed Kili how to do it, and he did it sometimes as well.

The worst part though was when Thorin sat down with Kili at Fili’s bedside. It had been while Fili was still loathe to do anything but lie on his stomach, but he had tilted his head up at Thorin and nodded when he said, “You know what this means, Fili.”

“What does this mean?” Kili asked, oblivious.

Thorin sighed and put his hands on his knees. “It’s why the Council pushed for this. An elf can’t inherit a dwarven throne.”

“But he’s not an elf.”

It was Fili’s turn to sigh. “Yes Kili. Legally, I am.”

Kili shook his head, comprehension dawning. “They can’t do that! You’re Thorin’s heir! Just because you burned doesn’t change that!” He turned to look at his uncle. “Right Thorin?”

Thorin put his hand on Kili’s shoulder. “We know that, and many others do as well. But I cannot just change the law.”

“But you’re the king!”

Thorin shook his head. “I am not all powerful. I must answer to the Council and to the people. Maybe once, when Thrain was still king, the mood of the people was such that the laws may have been undone. But your grandfather was of a like mind with those who originally wrote them, and did not do so. And so, in the eyes of those laws, you are the dwarf Kili son of Dis, and your brother is the elf Fili son of Vili.”

“And there is nothing you can do,” Fili did not quite ask.

“I have already done all that I can, for now,” Thorin confirmed. “I struck down some of them before you were born, but was told that any more could be seen as self-serving and to wait before attacking more. But I waited too long. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault Thorin,” Kili tried.

Thorin smiled sadly at Kili. “Someday Kili, things won’t be your fault either.”

There was a brief silence. “ _Oh_ ,” Kili practically whispered as it hit him.

The next time Kili took his braids out, he didn’t put them back in. Where archery had previously been simply a part of the brothers’ weapon training, it was suddenly Kili’s passion. He had his tutors tearing their hair out at his single-minded focus on some topics to the complete ignorance of other, more appropriate ones. And the next time someone shouted  _khûthzul_ _damâm_  at them, Kili pulled himself up and said, “Yes, and?”

(And when they replied with, “ _Amadzu karhu e ujundai!_ ” Fili let him punch them.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul Translations:  
> \- Id-farf mi liwîz: Test of Coal  
> \- Kâmnul damâm: Dirty blood  
> \- Amadzu naizlifi zars: Your mother fucked a tree  
> \- 'Idmâm khazâd: Lesser blood dwarves  
> \- Mibilkhags: Impolite term for elves; lit. “stiff neck”  
> \- Bin’adad: Fatherless  
> \- Binarzâm: Faithless  
> \- Khûthzul damâm: Elvish blood  
> \- Amadzu karhu e ujundai: Your mother’s vagina is too loose
> 
> This is the first fic for which I've used dwarrowscholar's updated dictionary. However after some thought I decided to continue to use udad and udadith for grandfather and uncle (etc.) because a) the words given in the updated dictionary are quite long and don't seem like the kind of address you'd use in casual conversation, and b) "lesser father" for uncle has always struck me as a little off, and udadith has the original Latin root of uncle as "little grandfather" backing it up.
> 
> The thing about Kili being the heir is one of my favorite theories. One of the biggest contradictions between The Hobbit and the greater lore is who is older: Fili or Kili? We take Fili as being older because the Appendices are basically definitive, and so the occasional reference to him being the youngest in The Hobbit is taken to be a simple mistake. But whose? The Hobbit is Bilbo Baggins' journal, so therefore it's Bilbo's mistake, so therefore Bilbo was given reason to believe that Kili was older than Fili. The first possibility that jumped into my mind was that Kili was Thorin's heir and Bilbo assumed it went by age, and I went with it. This is why procellous wrote about Fili having syphilis. It's all my fault.
> 
> As for the elvish blood, it seems incredibly likely that during at least one of the many, many conflicts between the elves and the dwarves that there was some rape going on. procellous and I talked extensively about that too.


	8. Elf 'verse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the Fellowship marches away from Rivendell, Gimli has questions for Fili.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fili/Tauriel  
> Rated T
> 
> Building on the last chapter, where Fili and Kili have an elf ancestor. Fili survives BOFA, but goes into exile due to events. He's joined by Tauriel, who was shamed by Thranduil and dismissed from his service due to her own actions.

As the Fellowship marched away from Rivendell, Gimli thought on what he’d seen as they were getting ready to leave. It was not long before Fili was apace with him. “You have questions,” he stated.

"Aye," Gimli admitted. "So that is why you do not live in Erebor permanently."

"One of them, yes. The others you already know, mostly." Fili’s face twisted in bitterness. "While the remainder of my Uncle’s Company welcome me, others are… more begrudging."

Gimli snorted. Wasn’t  _that_  the understatement of the Age. “So you wedded an elf.”

Fili shook his head. “No. Shared an elf’s bed, yes, but we do not love each other. She was fond of,” the barest of hesitations, “My brother, and was forced out of Mirkwood similar to that of I in Erebor. We traveled together.”

"Funny. I had heard that such actions  _were_  marriage to elves.”

Now it was Fili’s turn to snort. “And I have heard that dwarves have no use for intercourse at all and simply pop out of the ground like weeds.”

Gimli let out a bellowing laugh. “Hah! I bet the elf that told you that was as clueless in the matters of his own race as of ours. No use indeed.” He shook his head, chortling. There was a brief silence. “But you did not marry her for the…” What was he supposed to say? Elfling? Dwarfling? “Child?” he went with.

Fili shook his head again. “No. Elves do not practice such marriages. An eternity in a loveless union is not a fate considered by them. It is enough that I share their home while in Rivendell, and still occasionally her bed.”

Frankly Gimli couldn’t see the appeal, but who was he to judge? For the past eighty years Fili had been wandering, unwelcome amongst his own people yet uncomfortable with the elves of Rivendell who had opened their homes to him. He visited Erebor fairly often, but could only ever stay for so long before the whispers got to him and Dain’s advisers started hinting that the elfin heir should move on. Not that Fili ever professed to wanting the throne, but his presence still made them nervous. Gimli could see two lonely people, cast out from their homes and wandering the Wilds, falling into bed together. “I can see why you kept it a secret. More than a few old lords would lose their heads to hear of it.”

"It is not a secret," Fili contradicted.

"No, you simply didn’t tell anyone." Fili shrugged. "How old is he?"

"Sixty-one."

Gimli nodded knowingly. “I remember being that age. Wanted to come with, did he?”

"Most insistent." Fili smiled.

Gimli suddenly grabbed Fili’s arm tightly and pulled him close. “When I was his age, several of my kin went off on a quest,” he said softly. “Two of them did not return, and a third was forever changed for the loss. I hope you did not make any promises that you cannot keep.”

Fili looked forward, into the distance. “I made no such promises. I could not even bring myself to promise him the Halls, for I do not know if either of us will be allowed.”

"Now  _that_ ,” Gimli punctuated, “Is hogwash.”

"Is it really, Gimli? By the standards of dwarves I am not one of them. I have made my peace with it, and willingly call myself elf kin outside of Erebor, as you saw in the Council. I do not know what will happen when I die, and I do not dwell on it." Gimli saw that there was a set to Fili’s jaw. He saw his lost kin in it. "If I am to fall on this Quest, it will be no big matter. Erebor has its king and its prince. My son has his mother and his other kin. And even if this were not so, what we are doing now is more important that any one of us."

Gimli harrumphed, not sure if he liked where this conversation was going. “Still. Try not to die, will you? Don’t leave me alone with Pointy Ears over there.”

Fili threw back his head and laughed. “Aye Gimli. If it comes to that, I shall try to at least outlive our friend from Mirkwood.”


	9. Elf 'verse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They fall together the first time under the eaves of Mirkwood. There are gaping holes in their chests, that of homes not forbidden to them but unbearable regardless, and the ancient blood that is the cause gushes out of those holes as if hoping to cleanse itself. For Fili the exile was seeded decades ago but for Tauriel it is new, and he asks himself what Kili would do as he awkwardly tries to comfort her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fili/Tauriel  
> Rated T for oblique suicidal ideation
> 
> I had been debating waiting to upload the last chapter until I had finished this one, but obviously I didn't. This goes into a bit more detail as to what happened after the Battle.
> 
> And apparently I never actually posted this? Oops.

They fall together the first time under the eaves of Mirkwood. There are gaping holes in their chests, that of homes not forbidden to them but unbearable regardless, and the ancient blood that is the cause gushes out of those holes as if hoping to cleanse itself. For Fili the exile was seeded decades ago but for Tauriel it is new, and he asks himself what Kili would do as he awkwardly tries to comfort her. He did not recognize the names Thranduil spoke when he condemned her father’s line, but the curse of her mother’s line he understands more than he ever expected to understand an elf. Fili’s own personal losses of a brother and uncle sear his heart, and when he closes his eyes he sees Kili’s tomb, carved with the runes  _Kili son of Dis_. Under the trees their movements are slow but not loving, and Tauriel sobs when it is over. Fili knows she is thinking of his brother.

Those of the Company had tried to protect him, but you cannot protect one around whom others fall mute. Dain’s dwarves, for the most part, had never felt the sting of exile, and so did not understand how he had come about. How the princess of Durin’s line had fallen in with the likes of his father. Even though his blood had been proven pure they had barely bothered with Kili’s tomb, and it was up to the Company to make it fit for a prince. Still though, far away and deep under Erebor, it was not fit for it spoke of Kili’s legal lineage and not his true. And it was not long before Fili could not bear to remain, amongst unfriendly dwarves and a king who was not his uncle or brother

Present as he was at Thranduil’s denouncing of Tauriel, he understood that her fault lay in leaving Mirkwood to aid them. He also understood, from Tauriel’s stricken, shocked expression, that she had not known that her king knew those things about her. He had not recognized her father’s line but it was clear that all the elves around them did, and did not think well of it. It had been clear that Thranduil could have stopped there with his goals accomplished, but he did not. Unlike Fili Tauriel had not even tried to continue on, instead offering her services and begging succor from the men of Laketown.

Fili had escaped the coldness of Erebor for the coldness of winter one night and they had met under the stars, entirely by chance. She had asked him what he was sure many men and elves were asking themselves: why did Dain sit on the throne of Erebor as king? He had not answered, instead asking her how the men of Laketown were treating her. Tauriel had hesitated, and that hesitation was enough. By morn they were gone.

It was hard at first, baring his back to her. She had seen Bofur lift a burning log when they were escaping Laketown, and surely knew that his burns were unusual. But Tauriel had not asked, and had not touched. She grabbed him by the shoulders, by the hips, not questioning his shivers of shame, his flinches, even as he had not questioned her tears.

It wasn’t until they were more than halfway through Mirkwood that the topic of their destination came up. It was decided that they would try their luck at Rivendell, and if the Hidden Valley proved hostile as well then they would head south, to the mannish kingdoms there. Fili remembered the dwarf-blooded elf he had met in Rivendell, a lifetime ago, and thought that if he did go south, it would be alone.

While there were far fewer goblins in the Misty Mountains after the Battle, they were also far angrier from the losses they had suffered. Once the goblins found evidence of their passing they were hunted ruthlessly. Fili had felt a bitter laugh bubbling up as yet another blade met its mark, that he had survived the worst battle seen in a hundred years only to be cut down by such a rabble. In the end though he had not died and it was Tauriel, also wounded, who had carried his half-dead body the rest of the way.

* * *

Lord Elrond welcomed them with open arms, and the two of them recovered from their wounds in a peace they had not known on the fields before Erebor. Tauriel quickly found her place among the elves and Fili was treated like a prince in a way that his own people had not for many years.

That did not stop the restlessness from coming, the unease at being surrounded by the supposed enemy. That they were kind to him and called him ‘Your Highness’ mattered not. If anything, it made it worse. He was  _not_  an elf, the thread of blood was  _nothing_ , and yet where dwarves shunned him elves showed proper respect.

He was terrified to admit it, but he craved it. It sent a trill of joy through him when they called him prince. A reminder of what he had had before everything went wrong, what had been promised to him. What a quirk of fate had robbed him of.

He had an open invitation to dine with Lord Elrond and his family, which he usually neglected. But he had been sought out and told by Arwen that he simply had to join them that night, for Glorfindel was back from a trip to Lothlorien and would be regaling them with stories. The name tugged at Fili’s memory. He remembered Tauriel telling him, one lonely night, about the famous elvish warrior who lived in Rivendell, and so he had allowed Arwen to make him promise to be there.

Dinner conversation was light, and Fili was content to listen to Glorfindel speak of Lothlorien, which he knew he himself would never visit. But then the elven warrior’s attention turned to him. “By the by, Prince Fili. Congratulations on your people reclaiming Erebor.”

The food turned to ash in Fili’s mouth. He awkwardly swallowed. “…Thank you,” he managed. He reached for his glass, needing something to wash it down.

Glorfindel smiled at him. “I hear the battle against the goblins was terrible. And slaying a dragon, that is no small feat.”

Fili’s fingers tightened. “Aye, but we did not slay him; merely chased him out.”

“Ah, but of course. You were there.”

Fili nodded, not trusting his mouth to speak.

Glorfindel might have been about to say something more, force to the surface topics not meant for a meal, but Elrond gently touched his arm and looked at him in that strange way elves looked at each other at times. Fili took the chance to take a deep sip of the wine but did not return the crystal to the table. For some reason, his appetite had fled. When he looked up from the dark liquid, Glorfindel was peering at him across the table. He didn’t like it.

Abruptly, Glorfindel’s own glass shattered in his hand.

“ _Mellon nin_?” Elrond reacted.

Glorfindel’s eyes darted to Elrond as if he had forgotten he was there, then, eerily, back to Fili. “I… If you’ll excuse me. It seems I need to change my robes.” The elf quickly stood, carefully brushing some of the glass shards from his hand onto the table, where the larger pieces stood in a pool of spilt wine.

Fili put his own glass back on the the table. Apparently they were more fragile than they looked.

* * *

Later that evening found Fili rigorously going through the motions with his blades. It had become habit to do so every night before bed, both to keep himself in practice and in an attempt to keep the nightmares at bay through sheer exhaustion. Unexpectedly, one of his blades clanged against another. It was Glorfindel. “May I?” the elf asked.

Fili nodded, and got into position. They circled, judging each other, before Glorfindel came in with a swipe of his singular blade. Fili parried and thrust back, and like that they were in the throes of the swordsman’s dance. Fili quickly became sure that Glorfindel was holding back, for they seemed to be evenly matched. Glorfindel, slayer of a Balrog, could not possibly be on the level of Fili, who had failed to protect that which was most precious to him.

It felt like an Age before the bout ended by mutual agreement, both of them falling to sit on the grass panting. “You fight well,” Glorfindel complimented.

Fili glared into the distance, seeing a battlefield. “Not well enough.” His voice was hard and judgmental.

Glorfindel merely nodded. “We have all been there, on the wrong end of a battle. Take heart.” Fili didn’t respond. Glorfindel leaned back, looking up at the stars. “Prince Fili, what do you know about  _f_ _ëar_?”

Fili barely suppressed the shiver. “All elves have them. They are passed on to their mortal descendants. And all elves can sense them.”

Glorfindel turned his head to stare at him, unblinking, and nodded. “Yes.  _All_ descendants.”

Fili resisted the urge to curl up into a ball. “What do you want from me?” he croaked.

“Your  _fëa_  calls to me.”

Fili shook his head. “I’m not an elf. I don’t have a  _fëa_.”

“You do.”

Fili suddenly found himself meeting Glorfindel’s eyes, jumping up and face twisted in a snarl. “And if I could I would carve it out and throw it away, and if such an operation killed me it would be no matter! You cannot possibly understand, but believe me when I tell you it has cost me my  _life_ , and I would give anything to have it gone!” Chest heaving he looked away, blinking quickly.

Glorfindel waited before responding. “The elf who fathered your line…”

“If you tell me that you are he I will slay you here and now.”

Glorfindel quickly shook his head. “No! No, I… I have never…” he coughed. “I could not even tell you his name. But…” he looked back up at the stars, clearly looking for the right words among them. “When one lives forever, lineage can get… complicated. But an elf always knows blood kin, for their  _fëar_  recognize each other. I was once Glorfindel of Gondolin, Chief of the House of the Golden Flower. But the very ruins of Gondolin exist no more and I am chief of a house of one.” He looked back at Fili. “It has been a very long time since I have met blood kin.”

Fili’s blood ran cold. “No… what are you saying? I am not an elf… I am not an elf! I am not one of you, and I will never be one of you!”

“Just because you are not an elf does not mean that we cannot be kin.”

Fili grabbed his blades and ran.

* * *

He grabbed his meager belongings quickly before going to the room given to Tauriel and entering without knocking. “I am leaving,” he announced. “Follow if you wish.”

Tauriel was unclothed and her hair was still dripping from the bath. She looked up at his entrance. “If I asked, would you tell me?”

“No.”

Tauriel bit her lip.

“You do not have to follow me,” Fili assured. “I know you feel ki – connected, due to our situations. But you do not have to follow me.”

Tauriel approached him, and kissed him. It was without passion. “One night,” she requested. “You are angry, and if you leave now we will not see each other again. You mistake my complacency for happiness…” Her voice trailed off as she twisted her fingers in Fili’s golden hair; same as his brother’s. “In the morning I shall have a clearer head.”

In the post-orgasmic haze, Fili could finally give voice to his fears. “One of the elves claims kinship to me.”

He felt Tauriel shift beside him. “ _The_  kinship?”

“No. He would be dead, otherwise, and so would I for if I did manage to slay him without sustaining fatal wounds the other elves would be quick to rectify that.”

“I would save you,” Tauriel told him. “And leave with you.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Fili admitted.

“Would you want his kinship, if he were a dwarf?”

Fili thought long and hard about that. And eventually he had an answer. “The only kinship I desire right now is lost to me. The claims of others hold no sway over me, not when I have been wounded so by the fickleness of hearts.”

Tauriel nodded. “Sleep now. We shall discuss future plans in the morning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tauriel: So I figure that while some of the half-blood rape babies would stay with the dwarves, there would be at least a few who tried their luck with the elves. Unfortunately because of strain between them and and the full-blooded elves there aren't many of them or their descendants left despite immortality. Most that do still survive live in Rivendell, because that place is most accepting of them.
> 
> Glorfindel: Because why the fuck not. Also, as time goes on and Fili gets some emotional distance from events, his relationship with Glorfindel will be a huge factor in his eventual acceptance of his mixed heritage. Because here is an honorable elf, a hero who performed great deeds, who is also claiming kinship with him. Until the Quest his personal experience with elves had been limited to knowledge of his ancestor's rapist and the repercussions of that, and the Mirkwood elves had done nothing to assuage his fears and misgivings. Elrond is nice enough, but it is Glorfindel's greatness and the way Fili can connect his successes with the struggles of dwarves (i.e. Durin's Bane) that makes the difference between a Fili who travels between Erebor and Rivendell living the life of a knight errant and a Fili who wanders the wilds looking for death.


	10. Kili/Orc 'verse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kili is not a prisoner. He could leave whenever he wanted to. He just doesn't want to.
> 
> His children make the decision for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/702.html?thread=91838#t91838  
> Azog/Kili  
> Rated M for heavily implied rape (that is, beyond the usual for this 'verse).
> 
> An edited version of the kink meme fill that originally started this hellhole. So it fits in line with Chapter 5 as opposed to Chapter 2.

He stood in the doorway as his mate approached, and lowered his head in respect. “Welcome home, husband.”

“I'm welcomed, Kili,” the pale orc greeted in return. He reached out and cupped Kili's swelled belly. “You've grown.”

“All thanks to you, husband. But I'm afraid for this one. I don't think it will live”

Azog ran his large hands over Kili's stomach. “You remember your first baby? You hated that it would live”

Kili leaned into the large orc and nodded. His memories of those days are hazy, filled with pain and vile things. Large swaths of that period of time are blank in his head, when he had simply shut himself away to keep from going mad. As time passed and he grew used to the orcs the holes in his memory came less often, though they still did on rare occasion.

Perhaps he had gone mad regardless. But if so, in madness there is survival, and that is important above all else.

“You were sick and went into labor too early. It made it out, you clung to it until it died, and then you clung to me and cried. That was when I knew you were mine.” Azog stroked Kili's hair. “And you didn't think the last one would live, and look at him now. Big. Strong. He will become a king. So when you say you don't think this one will make it, there's a reason I don't believe you.”

Azog planted a kiss on Kili's scalp. Kili closed his eyes, leaning even further into the large strength of the orc who possessed him. “Of course, husband.”

* * *

Every birth got harder and harder. Dwarves were not meant to carry the children of orcs, and orc healing was not gentle. Kili knew he would not be well enough to move for several days, and that someday this was how he was going to die.

“I march on Urbâdhûn,” Azog announced a day after Islbagûrz's birth. Kili had been expecting the announcement for a while. “I'll take your people's home, and give you the treasures of your ancestors as thanks for giving me a daughter.”

“May your weapons destroy all your foes, and your venture be fruitful,” Kili blessed him as he nursed Islbagûrz.

* * *

That was in spring. Now it is fall. Khazad-dûm does not see the seasons change, but Azalnulbizar does. Kili travels to the surface when he feels it is necessary, to pray on the shores of Kheld-zâram by Durin's Stone. He has taken each of his children there as soon as he was well enough, to recite the traditional dwarvish blessings and to ask Mahal to watch over them despite their sire. When the child did not live, their mixed heritage turning against them, his words go differently. At other times he prays for the safety of his family. For his parents and Fili and Thorin, but also Ashthûn, Grishlûl, Maukûrz, Shaatii, Akaal, Dushtala, Gazogalûr and Islbagûrz.

Kili does not pray for Azog's safety because it would undoubtedly offend not only Mahal, but the orc king himself. So he prays for it through their children. As the dominant member of their marriage, by orkish law he will protect their children until he is dead or they demand Dhakob Mâdûr from him, the rites of adulthood when they declare that they are old enough to take care of themselves. If Kili still lives when Azog dies that duty will fall to him, and Kili has no illusions about his position among the orcs. Beyond his personal lack of power, if another wishes to marry him he will have no one to protect him from the orskhru, the spouse-kidnapping, and it is the right of the dominant spouse to demand the deaths of any children from a previous marriage who have not gone through Dhakob Mâdûr. Their oldest, Ashthûn, is only thirty-one. It will still be at least nine years before he has any hope of surviving both Dhakob Mâdûr and life as an orc in their majority. Another ten before he will have a chance at winning an orskhru, and Kili refuses to let any of his children demand Dhakob Mâdûr before they can win an orskhru, Azog be damned.

Azog left in spring, and now it is fall. Kili goes to ask Mahal for his children's safety almost every day.

* * *

It was winter when Bolg returned at the head of the much diminished orc army. The new king was in a permanent rage, and Kili wisely avoided him as he mourned. He and his children mourned for Azog, husband and father. He was a doting parent, one who denied little without reason, and cradled the young ones when Kili was ill (which was often, for a dwarf). He brought them the finest treasures of Khazad-dûm, the softest furs and the best food. He protected them, sheltered them, and without him, they had nothing. But in secret Kili mourned for more, for the returning army had brought rumors. Of the dwarf king's demise, and of the blond warrior who had fallen defending him, who the orcs cursed as a fearsome one who had slaughtered many of them. Kili had not seen this outcome coming, that of all the coincidences in the world, Azog and Thorin would decide to brave a dragon in the same year. He had known that if Thorin and Azog ever met again someone he cared for would die, and had simply hoped that it would never happen. That both would, and in a great battle that took Fili too, was almost too much. But the orcs could not say for sure that they were dead, and he clung to that.

But Kili could not avoid Bolg forever. As Azog's oldest child, it was his duty to give Kili the raakhuga maushflokh. Kili was bouncing Islbagûrz on his knee and trying to get her to eat the mush when Bolg interrupted their dinner.

When Kili became aware again, he was lying in the bed he shared with Azog. He was sore and bloody in a way he hadn't been since his orskhru, and there was a burning sensation on the back of his thigh that he recognized as being from a new tattoo. He did not need to look to know what the orc letters said. A declaration of the end of Azog's life, and therefore their marriage and his protection of Kili. Kili was single for the first time in...

He did not remember how long he had been married to Azog.

* * *

It was less than a week before Kili blacked out again. When he came to he was walking along the foothills of the Misty Mountains, Grishlûl with a guiding hand on his elbow. He stumbled in surprise, causing Grishlûl to stop. “Krank? Are you with us?”

“Yes lûb,” Kili went to pat at her head, but the movement pulled at sore muscles and he stopped abruptly, letting out a surprised grunt. “Can we stop?”

Ashthûn, walking ahead of them, stopped and looked over his shoulder. “We should keep going.”

Kili saw that Ashthûn was wearing Islbagûrz in a sling. He looked behind them and saw the others, Dushtala and Gazogalûr being helped by their older brothers. There was also a warg, laden down with bags and supplies. “What happened?”

Ashthûn's visage grew flinty. “Nûrzmurûk took Grishlûl for orskhru. You killed him. We left.”

Kili growled low in his throat as he started moving again. “Good.” Nûrzmurûk was one of Azog's, now Bolg's, generals. Kili had never liked him. His yes-man facade was thin and hid schemes for power. A politician in the manner of orcs. That he had decided that one of Azog's baalaku was more advantageous than someone with power of their own was almost surprising, but not quite. Nûrzmurûk did not like to share. “He was a snake. Have you even bled yet?”

“No,” Grishlûl answered. Then she added, “He did though. You made him eat his ghru.”

Kili observed her slight limp out of the corner of his eye. The stream of words that came out of his mouth resulted in hands covering the ears of his four youngest. “I was well within my rights to do so. Why are we leaving?”

“We're taking you home, Krank,” Dushtala answered.

Kili looked in surprise to his middle daughter. “I was home. Gazat-ruz is home.”

Dushtala shook her head in that stubborn way young children have. “Gazat-ruz is Azog-krank's home. Azog-krank went to go capture Kili-krank's home but the dwarves killed Azog-krank, so Gazat-ruz isn't Azog-krank's home anymore. Urbâdhûn is Kili-krank's home but it's full of dwarves but Kili-krank is a dwarf so we're taking Kili-krank to live at his home with the dwarves. And we're coming too.” Then she took a deep breath.

Kili had to smile in amusement at the way she declared that Gazat-ruz, or Dwarven Halls, was not Kili's home in the same breath that she declared Kili a dwarf. Then he grew serious again. “Ashthûn, we need to stop for a minute. Unless someone is chasing us?”

Ashthûn paused, then slowly shook his head. “Not that I know of.”

Kili nodded in acknowledgment. “Then we need to stop. I'm sure the young ones will not mind the rest.”

“We should cover as much ground-”

“ _Ashthûn_.”

His oldest bowed his head in submission. “Yes Krank.”

While the others sat down on the ground and passed around a waterskin, Kili pulled Ashthûn away into the woods, out of earshot. “Have you really thought this through?” he demanded.

And suddenly, Ashthûn was the scared little boy Kili knew he still was, hugging tight to his father. “I know it's dumb, it's a terrible idea, but I didn't know what else to do!” Ashthûn gulped. “You haven't... you haven't left us twice so close together since I was Gazogalûr's age! Bolg said he was just gonna record Azog-krank's death and you went to your bedroom, but then you started screaming and fighting, and, and we all hid in the closet in the girls' room. And in the morning when we came out Bolg was gone and you had gone blank, and you didn't come back for so long. And when Nûrzmurûk took Grishlûl you went mad! She led you back and you were bloody and she was bloody and I was _so scared!_ ”

“Shh, shh, it's okay,” Kili made soothing sounds, rubbing Ashthûn's back. “I'm here now.”

“It _wasn't_ okay though! There was no way you could stop it from happening to any of us, to all of us, even to yourself! If someone took you for orskhru again then we were all gonna die! And so I figured... Azog-krank wasn't going to take just anyone as his hru gazat. So you must be important to the dwarves. So they'd take you back, and maybe, maybe you'd be able to tell them not to kill us and they'd listen. And so I asked Grishlûl what she thought and she said she'd rather die than be taken for orskhru again. So we talked to the others and they said yes and here we are.”

Kili pulled away and brushed some hair out of Ashthûn's face. “I'm glad you thought that far. But that doesn't change the fact that it is three months to Urbâdhûn on foot, and the middle of winter at that. While I have faith in you, you're still young, and the others younger still.” Ashthûn nodded. “But I understand why you thought this was the best thing to do, and while it would be better to wait until spring I know why you thought we had to leave immediately. And... I agree with you. Aanashlab kulub grishûrz.”

Ashthûn smiled widely at the praise. Kili guided him back to the others, mind racing. If, _if_ they survived the journey to Erebor, in the middle of winter with one adult, seven children, a baby, and a warg, then... then he might be king. If he was king, then he could keep them far safer than he ever could in Khazad-dûm, even amongst dwarves. Even if he wasn't, he still wouldn't be helpless like he would've been in Khazad-dûm. If they had stayed he would've gotten away with killing Nûrzmurûk since Grishlûl was still young, but it wouldn't be many more years before that was no longer an option.

So, to Erebor. Survive the journey, and don't worry about what he'll find at the end until he gets there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Black Speech translations:  
> \- Hru Gazat: fertile dwarf  
> \- Urbâdhûn: lit. Mount Alone  
> \- Krank: father  
> \- Lûb: daughter  
> \- Ghru: penis  
> \- Baalaku: half-breeds  
> \- Aanashlab kulub grishûrz: Your dawn will be bloody. Meant like, "You will grow up to be a fine warrior."
> 
> \- Dhakob Mâdûr: Ceremony of Freedom. Orcs don't have a set age at which they are considered an adult. Instead when they feel they are ready they go to the head of their household and demand the Dhakob Mâdûr. If they pass the following trials, they are considered an adult. If they don't, they're usually dead.
> 
> \- Orskhru: lit. steal fertile. Orc engagement/marriage. Despite what you'd think, most orc marriages are consensual. It's generally considered Not Done to marry someone with significantly less power than you (unless there's something else going on), and the person being "kidnapped" is allowed to defend themselves to the full extent of their abilities.
> 
> \- Raakhuga Maushflokh: cloven ink. The subordinate member of a marriage gets a tattoo on their back stating who they are married to and what their spouse will do to anyone who harms them. It's basically orcish wedding vows. The raakhuga maushflokh is the continuation of that tattoo after the dominant spouse dies. Kili's is on his thigh because Azog went a _little_ overboard with his protection vows and kept going even after he ran out of room.
> 
> ...I really meant it when I said I had put a lot of thought into orc culture in this 'verse.
> 
> The children's names mean, in order, Skeletonheart, Bloodflower, Scrappy, Spear, Cutlight, Storm, Wilddemon, and Plantpoisonous. Nice Orcish names.
> 
> The major changes from the fill itself were taking out a cultural idea or two that didn't end up fitting, making a reference to Kili thinking his father is still alive, and putting in rumors of Thorin and Fili's deaths.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A cult decides to perform a live sacrifice to a dark god who may or may not be Morgoth in order to bring back the glory days of Old Erebor. And there is nothing better for such a ritual than a beautiful youth from the line of kings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/8973.html?thread=20214541#t20214541  
> Rated M for graphic mutilation.  
> TW for a reference to self-harm.

They bind him tightly and hold him down, but he still struggles when they carve the runes into his flesh. He shouts at them and threatens them, but none hear who care. Blood runs in rivulets down his chest and he screams at them, partly from pain, partly from terror.

A clump of hair is cut away and a drill placed against his trembling temple. Strong hands hold him still. The tears finally leak when the bit starts spinning steadily because _he doesn't want to die_. But the drill bit doesn't move past his skull. Instead one of them takes a thin metal rod and pushes it into the hole. The rod is manipulated, worked back and forth to shred the brain tissue. As this is done his struggles slow, and eventually cease.

“The connection to the soul is severed,” one of the dwarves judges. “The host body is ready.”

An expanse of flesh on his chest had been left unmarred. This is rectified now, one of the dwarves cutting it away until they can see the pale white of bone, and beneath it his beating heart. “The essence,” a dwarf holds out his hand, and is given a clear glass jar. The liquid inside is black as the darkest night. He pulls out the stopper and holds it over the captive.

There's a cry as one of his companions is felled by an arrow. He spins, cursing, as the King's men descend upon them.

No one notices the few drops that splash from the jar onto the heart.

* * *

“Fili,” the childish voice comes.

Fili blinks sleep from his eyes and pushes himself upright. “What is it Kili?”

“The voice is saying to kill you again.”

Fili's eyes adjust to the darkness much faster and better than any Man's. Kili is standing in his bedroom, looking down at his hands. Fili thinks that his expression may have been a frown, once upon a time. “And now it's angry that I tattle-taled.”

Fili eyed his brother, carrying nothing and dressed only in a thin sleep-shirt. “Do you have a knife with you?” Despite their precautions, he makes himself ask.

“Nuh-uh.”

Fili holds out his arm. “Come here.” Kili is obedient. He sits down on Fili's bed and Fili pulls his younger brother into a hug. He comforts himself with his warmth and his beating heart.

“The voice is going to punish me now, isn't it?”

Fili runs his hands up and down Kili's arms as if trying to warm them; up and down the thin white lines that marred them. He remembers when they first discovered him doing it, he remembers Kili explaining that his voice was angry with him and punishing him. That was when they started hiding anything with a sharp edge. “Then we shall just have to keep a close eye on you to make sure the voice can't punish you, hmm?” Kili nods.

They had tried telling him not to listen to the voice. But whatever the voice was, it seemed to be all that was left of Kili's will. He listened, and more often than not followed the instructions given. Sometimes it gave good advice. Sometimes Thorin would bemoan some problem or another and Kili would speak up, and it was like it was Before again, if Fili could ignore the dead look in his eyes, only his brother was so much wiser than he had ever been Before.

More often though, they had learned that they couldn't leave the younger brother alone.

And so they had told Kili to tell them everything his voice told him. Eager to please, he had done so and more than one disaster had been averted this way. It was not that he had forgotten the difference between right and wrong. He showed clear remorse whenever he was caught trying to go through with something. It was simply that the voice, whatever it was, was stronger than what was left of his brother.

Dis and Thorin and the others thought that Kili's voice was an illness. A symptom of the way the cultists had carved into his head. Fili could see this thought, this pain, on their faces whenever Kili spoke of it.

Fili knew better.

Fili had seen them, that time he cut his hand so badly with a knife he needed stitches, that accident right before Kili had fallen sick with a fever. After that was when Kili started telling him that the voice wanted him dead every other week.

And Fili knew why the voice wanted him dead.

His brother's eyes had not been his own, then. Fili had seen it, and knew that if he had any sense he would tell Thorin. That was why the voice wanted him dead. But he didn't breathe a word. The voice inhabiting his brother's body didn't believe him when he tried to tell it that it had nothing to fear from him.

Not when revealing its presence would leave him with nothing but a cold, stone tomb.


	12. Kili/Orc 'verse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bolg conquers Erebor, and like that the whole world changes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kili/Bolg, Fili/OFM  
> Rated **M**  
>  Warnings: ALL OF THEM. This is _easily_ the darkest thing I HAVE EVER WRITTEN. Rape, torture, mutilation, character death, abuse, atrocities performed by invading armies, more rape, more torture, suicidal ideation, reproductive coercion. This is The Bad End, and oh boy is it bad. _So bad_. This chapter is NOT for the faint of heart.
> 
> It seems silly at this point to warn for the minor ableism at the end, but it's there so there you have it.

The coming of the King Under the Mountain is not like the stories.

The grandson of the former king stands to attention outside the gates, up on a pike, decomposed beyond recognition. He is not alone, and in the field before him are large charred patches of dead winter grass where the pyres of the dead had gotten out of control.

Inside the mountain, the old stone throne has been repaired, and the Arkenstone set in it. The occupying orc force has gathered before it. Among them are those few dwarves they had taken prisoner. They are a bedraggled lot, starved and abused, most sorry-looking among them a young blond dwarf. Their chains are held at the front, so that they may witness what comes next.

Bolg stands before the throne of Erebor. Beside him stands Kili, and to the side their children in a row, the oldest carrying the youngest. But Bolg does not take the throne. Instead he addresses the gathered. “We have a achieved a great victory!” he shouts. “We set out to slay a dragon, but when we arrived we found that the deed had already been done. And yet our prize was occupied, and we still had to wrest it from the hands of others. And now Urbâdhûn is ours!”

The orcs cheered their king, pounding their feet and creating a ruckus. Bolg waited for it to die down. “I am your king, and I rule over Gazat-ruz and Urbhbûbhosh. I was satisfied with that. Gazat-ruz and Urbhbûbhosh have been in orcish hands for centuries, and they are our homes. However, Urbhâdhûn was ruled by dwarves in living memory, and ruled by a dwarf it will still be. I have conquered Urbâdhûn as a gift to my yûlal, and now give to him the crown of the dwarves. He will rule Urbhâdhûn under me as King above all.” The orcs did not react quite as enthusiastically to this, though many thought of the dwarf prisoners, forced to watch, and laughed at their leader's cruelty.

Nûrzmurûk stepped forward, holding the Raven Crown of Thror. Bolg took it from him, and turned to Kili. Kili did not even have to bow, Bolg towering over him, for Bolg to place it on his head. “Lat grishuz za uliima-ûr. Rad lat gaakh largug morûrz riiplab.” (You bled for this throne. Now you may make hard your skin.)

“Narnûlubat,” Kili responded, and turned again to face the crowd. When he opened his mouth, he showed that his teeth had been filed and sharpened into points in the manner of orc warriors.

Bolg put a hand on his own breast. “Now I know that I have the loyalty of the orc-hai here, and as I have your loyalty you will follow me in this. But there are those among us who do not give their loyalty to me. I would have them swear their loyalty to their new king.”

The dwarf prisoners had not understood more than a handful of words out of Bolg's entire speech, but they knew the instant all attention was turned on them. Bolg switched to Westron. “You dwarves are not loyal to me, and thus are not loyal to my wife. Yet you will live under him as your King. I would have you swear loyalty to him now.”

While the dwarves had gathered what was happening, that did not stop them from being very confused about it. Bolg's words seemed to lessen their confusion only somewhat, but those who had not been looking at Kili in disgust before now looked upon him with looks of utmost betrayal. At a gesture from Bolg, Fili (for that was the blond dwarf's identity, Fili Kili's brother) was jerked forward by his chains, and fell to his knees in front of the dais.

The clothes he wore after his six weeks of captivity were nothing more than bloodstained rags. He had crooked fingers and little stubs of fingernails in the process of regrowing. His nose was broken and not an inch of skin was not bruised or scabbed or scratched and he walked with a limp, but still he held his head high. “There was a day when I would swear loyalty to my brother above all,” he projected. “But I will _never_ swear loyalty to your puppet, Bolg.”

Bolg's grin showed teeth. “Never say never, little prince.” Another gesture, and Fili was socked in the jaw by the orc standing over him, sending him sprawling to the floor. He spat blood. He was quickly being kicked ruthlessly, forcing him to curl up in an attempt to protect what he could. It was not long before Bolg put a stop to it.

One by one the dwarves were asked to swear loyalty, refused, and offered the same treatment. They were dragged away together. And through it all Kili stood, stone-faced.

* * *

Fili knew that at least some of the Company had escaped with Dain's forces when they had retreated. He did not know about the rest; all the others captured were Dain's dwarves. The elves had fled to their forest. In the confusion, he did not know what happened to the men.

The first several days bled together into a kind of hell. Fili had screamed his throat raw and bloody, every moment sure he would not survive the next. Two of their number didn't. The orcs knew who he was and paid special attention to him, careful never to cross the line they danced upon with the others. Bolg especially enjoyed tormenting him, making sure he was present when his uncle's body had joined the gruesome display outside the gates.

But that was not the worst part.

It was the first day – or perhaps the second? – when the orcs had gathered their prisoners together and stripped them and then reached between their legs. Bolg himself had been the one to molest Fili, and seemed disappointed by what he found. After that, those who were bearers were separated from the others. Fili had a sickening suspicion why.

After the first several days it became easier to mark the passage of time, but the hours still blurred together in a way that made anything other than estimations of how long it'd been since the battle impossible. So he only knew that it had been about a month, maybe more, when things changed.

The orcs started speaking of Bolg's wife, those who could speak Westron. She was coming, and their spawn, to Erebor, to join the orc king. The orcs jeered at the dwarves when they said this, as if they were in on some big joke. If he stopped to think about it this would worry Fili, but he did not have time for worries about some orc queen. He could only bear the pain and wonder if the orcs would ever tire of him.

One day he was told that Bolg's wife had arrived. The next, the dwarves were all taken from their cells at once and brought to the old throne room of Thror.

It had changed since Fili had last been in it, a lifetime ago. The throne had been repaired and the Arkenstone replaced in it. The rubble had been cleared and some of the more obvious damage had been fixed as well. What had remained of the tattered, singed tapestries had been taken down, the metal and jewels had been polished, and great braziers lit the cavern.

The dwarves were brought to the front of the crowd. Upon the dais before the throne stood Bolg. To the side of the throne Fili spied several very small orcs. Bolg's vile spawn, he deduced. But if Bolg's queen was among the crowd, he did not know who she was. Bolg spoke in the Black Speech, and gestured to the side.

It was one of those moments wherein the world shifts irrevocably, and one gets a sense that one is falling. Fili had experienced those moments before. After the attack, when his father had died and, after they could not find a trace of him, they had come to the conclusion that his brother had died as well. When he realized that they would lose the Battle, and there was nothing he could do, and again not long later when he had been unable to retreat with the others. When Bolg had surprised him with the news of his uncle's death, and given all-too-vivid proof.

 _There was a free dwarf in Erebor_.

The dwarf stepped to Bolg from the side, without shackles or chains and wearing orc clothes. And as he saw how they looked at each other, Fili realized that _this dwarf was Bolg's queen_. But the world was not done quaking, for the dwarf was familiar to Fili. It took him several moments to realize why, but only because he could not believe it, thought for sure his mind was playing tricks on him, but it wasn't.

 _His brother Kili was Bolg's queen_.

* * *

Fili did not have long in his cell after the coronation before the orcs came for him again. They took him, not kindly, up to the higher levels, to what Thorin had introduced as the old royal palace. They stopped before a large door, one of the orcs knocked, and they were bade enter. The only person waiting for them on the other side was Kili, who said something to the guards, causing them to leave the two of them alone.

Up close, his brother looked... well. Skinny, but tall. He no longer had the muscles of a trained warrior, but he was not weak either. He looked healthy and uninjured, as far as Fili could tell. His clothes were well made and his hair neatly braided.

It was both a dream and a nightmare.

They stared at each other, unsure of what the other wanted. Then Kili said, in a very small voice, “Fili?” and Fili took two uneven steps forward and Kili took three and then Kili was tentatively reaching for his hand before thinking better of it and taking another step forward to gently rest their foreheads together.

“Naddith,” Fili breathed.

“Never did I imagine that Bolg and Thorin would set out to conquer Erebor in the same year,” Kili responded. “But it has brought us together again, so it is not all bad.”

“How are you still alive, after all these years?” Fili had to make himself ask this, for he had the unsettling feeling he would not like the answer.

Kili took a step back and gently examined Fili's hands. “These need to be splinted. I have bandages.” He led Fili over to two armchairs set before the roaring hearth. As Fili sat down in one of them Kili opened a box on the table next to it, revealing that it was full of basic medical supplies. It felt surreal. He had not been expecting anything like this, not after he had called Kili Bolg's puppet and Kili had been like stone while he and the others had been beaten. Kili set out bandages and splints before kneeling before Fili and taking his left hand. He carefully examined the breaks and dislocations. “This will hurt,” he warned.

“It already does,” Fili replied. And it was true. There was no part of him that did not ache after his earlier beating. Kili had the good sense to look away in contrition.

It _did_ hurt though, and a few pained grunts escaped him while Kili set his fingers. Notably, his right index finger had already started to heal crooked, and Kili had had to carefully re-break what fragile bone had built up. “It is a good thing we are doing this now,” he said when he was wrapping up the last of them, “For much longer and you may have lost the use of at least one of your fingers.”

“I may yet lose the use of them, for I do not expect them to stay this way,” Fili responded, and Kili gifted him with an indescribable look. Fili tested his range of movement. His fingers felt clunky and immovable, which he supposed was the point, and a sight better than a sharp pain whenever he bent them.

Kili eyed his face. “Can you breathe through your nose?”

Fili shook his head. “Not really. But I feared making it worse if I tried to do anything,” he held up his hands as reason.

Kili gently felt the bridge of his nose, and pushed the broken piece back into place. “Is that better?”

Fili took a few experimental sniffs. “Yeah. Thank you.” Silence fell as Kili sat back on his heels. Fili looked down at his hands. “Why are you doing this? Why are you helping me?”

Kili looked offended. “Well because you're my brother!”

“But...” Fili vaguely gestured at Kili, unsure what he was trying to say, unsure what he was assuming.

Kili leaned forward and rested a hand on Fili's knee. “You're my brother, Fili. My marriage to Bolg does not change this.”

And wasn't that the mûmak in the room?

“Are you hungry?” Kili suddenly asked, standing up.

“I...” Fili trailed off. What kind of question was that? Did he think he was _not_ hungry?

“That is, I don't know how well they're feeding you,” Kili said. “I was given enough food in the beginning, but that wasn't the same.”

Fili looked down at his lap. “We are not fed well,” he admitted.

Kili smiled softly. “You don't look like you are. I have some pastries, I'll get them.”

Fili's eyes followed Kili to the credenza. Out of one of the cupboards he removed a plate covered in a cloth, and removed the cloth before returning to set the plate down next to the box of medical supplies. The plate was piled high with large pastries, and Fili's mouth watered. He was _starving_. “Help yourself.” Fili clumsily grabbed one, his splinted fingers causing some trouble, and bit into it. He couldn't help the small moan of joy at the taste of food in his mouth. Kili took his own pastry before sitting down in the other armchair.

He had barely swallowed before he took another bite, and hit a different texture. He rolled it around on his tongue, identifying it as... meat. He closed his eyes and pushed the bite into a cheek. “What kind of meat is this?”

Kili waved a hand at nothing in particular. “I don't know. Something that's been hunted. There's no livestock here.”

Fili's appetite shrank a little. “What kind of things do orcs hunt?”

Kili opened his mouth to answer, but there was a brief pause when he figured out what Fili was _really_ asking. “Oh! Oh no, no no no. No Fili. Despite the stories, you will not find any meat served here that would not be served anywhere else.” Fili swallowed the bite. “It's probably deer, or something of that ilk.”

Reassured, Fili continued to eat the pastry. As he did so, he watched his brother. Kili seemed... content, of all things. Fili had a million questions, but didn't know how to ask a single one. And he was afraid; afraid that asking questions would shatter the peace between them. It hurt to realize it, but he didn't know his brother any more. Not truly. As he watched Kili eat, he saw another flash of Kili's teeth. “What happened to you teeth?” he asked.

Kili swallowed and then cracked open his mouth again, running his tongue over the sharpened points. “It is a rite of orc warriors. I am still getting used to them.”

“So you are an orc warrior now.”

“I am an orc king, and I can't be an orc king without being an orc warrior. Even if I haven't lifted a weapon in over thirty years.”

“They won't let you have a weapon?”

Kili shrugged. “No need. If something were to happen to me, Bolg's reprisal would not be painless. They all know this.”

Fili raised an eyebrow. “The orcs accept you as one of them then.”

“No, but that doesn't mean that they don't know that if they so much as scratch me, it'll be the last mistake they ever make.”

“And if Bolg dies?”

Kili shook his head. “It is very unlikely that I will outlive him.”

Fili frowned. “Really? You don't worry that he'll get killed?”

Kili placed a hand on his stomach. “I'll probably die in childbirth before I reach a hundred. It's the way of bearing dwarves living with orcs.” A cry sounded from another room. “Speaking of,” he said with a smile before getting up and leaving.

The last of his second pastry turned to ash in Fili's mouth as Kili returned carrying a tiny orc in his arms. “Naptime's over, says the little princess,” he cooed at the orcling, who squealed and smacked his chin. Fili could only stare as Kili sat back down, balancing the baby in his lap. “Bolg doesn't like me speaking Westron around them, but I'm sure he'd understand, right Isl?” He bounced his knee and the orcling squealed again, like a pig.

“Isl,” said Fili, tonelessly.

Kili nodded. “Islbagûrz. And this, darling Islbagûrz, is Fili-kranknardur.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Uncle,” Kili translated brightly.

“I am _not_ ,” Fili growled, “An orcling's uncle.”

“Fili,” Kili said slowly, as if explaining something to a particularly stupid person, “This is my daughter.”

“It may have come from your body, but I'm not its uncle.” Fili lifted a hand to run it through his hair, but the splinted fingers slid off the matted, dirty tangles. “Mahal, Kili, have you... what.... You wear your braids, but you act as if that is the only dwarf left in you!”

“And what is _that_ supposed to mean?” Kili growled.

Fili stood and gestured as wildly as his aches would allow. “You speak their language, wear their clothes, submit to their rituals. You don't expect to even live past your first centennial and yet you _accept_ it! I don't even know whatever it is you have done to cause Bolg to look at you the way he did, but you stood by while his orcs _beat us_ , Kili. _We are tortured, Kili!_ ”

“And you think I was not?” Kili said coldly, and Fili forgot to breathe. “You think I just walked into Khazad-dûm and was instantly one of them? Orcs have their honor, though it seems alien to you. I have done things that Bolg could not just stand idly by to. You think he has not made me bleed? He has also given me happiness. Their ways are barbaric to you, but that is only because you don't know them. They have a sense to them.” He ducked his head and kissed Islbagûrz's crown. “And in time, you will see them as I do.”

Fili closed his eyes and took deep breathes. “You are my brother, Kili. But I meant what I said. You are also his puppet. I would rather die, and I _will_ die. Just like Thorin, just like 'Adad.”

Kili stilled. “'Adad's dead?”

A year ago, the thought would've put a sadness in Fili's heart. But the horrors of the past couple months had numbed him to everything. “Thirty-five years ago. Same raid when you disappeared.” He had died in Fili's arms, choking on his own blood and calling for his youngest. Thorin had found him like that. He had been gently pulled away and placed under the watchful eyes of others, and it was with them that he came back to himself. Dis was later found in the woods surrounding the settlement, searching for her boys. She had wailed when she was brought back and learned of her husband's fate. When she tried to leave to keep looking for Kili, Thorin had punched her. Fili didn't know what he said to her after, but when they were done speaking she came to him instead.

It had nearly broken the three remaining.

“I... didn't know,” Kili finally said.

“I would sooner die,” Fili repeated. “And do it myself before giving birth to a _single_ monster.”

Kili stood, eyes flashing. “Get out.”

Fili sneered. “Don't you need to call for the guards to take me back to my bloodstained cell?”

“Get _out!_ ”

Fili turned and limped to the door, opening it to reveal orc guards. They grabbed him roughly and dragged him away.

* * *

Fili's alone in his cell for hours before he's disturbed again. It's the longest he's ever been left alone since being captured, he thinks. Finally though a group of jeering orcs comes to him, cackling in the Black Speech and leering at him in a way that makes his hackles rise. The cell door is unlocked and they all push in, and Fili finds himself backing into a corner. “What do you want?”

One of them laughs. “We want to know if you're as good a fuck as your brother,” it translates.

Fili's heart jumps into his throat, and they grab him.

Later, lying naked on the floor, blood and semen pooling underneath, he thinks he understands how Kili could have been weakened into becoming one of them. But then he remembers that it never ended for Kili; that for all he knew Bolg was with his brother as he lay there, putting another orc in him. There's a fire inside killing him, but he manages to drag himself over to where his clothes are thrown. They're now so torn that they will no longer stay on him, but still he covers himself as best he can. He feels like he's burning up everywhere. He thought he had been numbed to the horror. He wasn't.

His fingers had remained wrapped.

* * *

Kili does not send for him again. Fili knows he should have expected it, after leveling such judgment on him, but the rejection still stings somewhere, deep down. Instead he gains new hurts, new scars, layering them on top of the old ones. But they do not touch his fingers again. That they were bandaged by their dwarf king is enough to make the orcs leave them be.

He starts to wonder if perhaps it would be best to find a way out – _any_ way out.

So it comes to pass that he's lying in his blood again, shivering with fever and wondering if it will kill him, when Bolg comes to him, joined by a one-armed female orc. Fili recognizes her. “You should be dead.”

She throws back her head and laughs. “You try,” she says in heavily-accented Westron. “ _Â_ _mbal gaz Durin kruf. Nargzab-izg ta_.” (Pretty little Durin whore. I want him.)

Bolg is staring at Fili, as if he were judging him and found him wanting. “ _Mat?_ ”

“ _Koz-izg ta kulat sriz shiikug. Nargzab-izg bidroi. Lat brusat tab kranklûk. Urdanat ash_.” (I hear he screams good. I want revenge. You have his brother. Pick one.) Bolg turns his head to look at her. When next she speaks, it is Westron again. “Name one orc better good for me. Not orc, but Durin prince. Want what you have. Want... _hru gazat_ prince.”

“ _Za kulat nar krampuga_.” (We do not do this.)

“ _Htollat. Ghung 'yûlal'-lab paashat krampat, paashat krampat-izg_.” (Fuck you. If your 'lesser' can do it, I can do it.)

“ _Bhoghad_ ,” Bolg responds, and Fili thinks he sounds resigned. The female orc turns on her heel and strides off. Bolg steps forward so that he is right against the bars of Fili's cell and hisses, “If your spawn hurts her, you're dead.”

Fili stares at the ceiling and hopes whatever infection he's battling kills him.

* * *

It doesn't.

After Bolg leaves he's taken from his cell and brought through the mountain to a lavish apartment. He's brought into the bedroom and a chain attached to the wall is shackled around his ankle. He's cleaned up. The salve they put on his burns hurts almost as much as the burns themselves, and the stitches on his larger cuts are jagged and uneven. They're not going to heal pretty. They're not gentle with the dressings and where once he might've screamed at the rough treatment now it doesn't even draw a whimper. The dirty wrappings on his fingers are undone and rebound with clean ones. They don't even make an attempt with his hair, simply shear it off just below his ears and brush it out from there. They bring him a full meal, and when he refuses to eat they force it into him.

He can tell time in his new prison by the delivering of the meals. There's no guard, but there's also no need. The chain is sturdy and the room had been stripped of anything that could be used as a weapon. So he's defenseless when the female orc comes to him, two weeks later.

“Pretty Fili,” she leers at him. “ _Kul-izg Bumazat. Lat hru gazat-izub_.”

Even one-armed, she easily overpowers him.

* * *

Her name's Bumazat, he learns later. She's Bolg's younger sister, and nearly killing her in the battle was one of the worst mistakes of Fili's life. He got her attention, and now he belongs to her, the same way that Kili belongs to Bolg. Kili's quick to explain that this is a _good_ thing whenever he visits.

“You would have died down there, in the dark,” Kili tells him. “Orc women don't take _hru gazatu_. It's just not done. You're lucky.”

Fili just stares at him. He's given up on trying to talk to his brother.

“I envy you a little. You don't have to worry about being torn. Bolg always leaves me sore, even now. And after you accept the _orskhru_ , things will get better.”

Inevitably, Kili gets frustrated with his silence and leaves.

* * *

The chain holding him isn't rough, but it's not some delicate, decorative thing either. It's got a few jagged edges. He spends a long time debating in his head whether he should, and then whether he even _could_. He decides that he can, and that he will.

He finds the roughest link, testing them on his palm. He'll only get one chance at this. He pulls the flesh taught and scrapes away at it, biting his lip until it bleeds to keep from uttering a sound. It hurts, oh so much, but he keeps going because it's been weeks, months maybe, since Bumazat chose him and he cannot end up like Kili, he just _can't_. He would sooner destroy his appeal to her.

He finishes just in time, Bumazat finding him with his hands covered in blood and scrotum still clenched in his fist. She roars in fury and grabs him by the hair, slamming him into the stone wall. His head explodes in pain. He vaguely notices her slamming it into the wall two more times. He's perversely kept his fist clenched the entire time, so Bumazat drags him to the hearth. She lets go of his hair and he drops to the floor, dead weight. She grabs his forearm and holds his right hand in the fire itself.

That's when he screams.

The flesh is blackened and crisp and he can smell cooked meat when she finally lets go. The pain is hideous, but parts are also numb in a way that can't be good and he knows instinctively that his actions have cost him more than his ability to sire children. “ _Lorz gazat_ ,” Bumazat growls at him. “ _Lat kulatit. Brus-izg foshân_.” (Stupid dwarf. You're too late. I'm pregnant.)

* * *

He loses his ring and pinky fingers, but for what use remains he might as well have lost the whole hand. After it heals he can bend his wrist somewhat, but that's it.

He's also taken from the lavish bedroom and returned to a cell. This time he's left in isolation, in the dark, interrupted only by Bumazat. She comes regularly after she starts showing, to strut in front of him and show off her growing belly. She sneers and talks at him in Black Speech. Against his will, he starts to look forward to her visits. It is better than the voices he has started hearing, alone in the dark.

He does not know how long this lasts. Months, must be. All he knows is that Bumazat is very close, if she hasn't given birth already, when the orc guards come for him. His legs are shaking as they take him up into the light again, and Kili is waiting for him. He has not seen his brother since before he castrated himself. Kili's stomach is swelled, and he carries a large basket with its contents hidden, and a lantern. “ _Narnûlubat. Norkub-izbta_ ,” he tells the orcs. His hand flashes a sign that could easily be mistaken for a stretch of the fingers, one that means _quiet, secret, subterfuge is happening_ , and _play along_ all at once, and like that Fili trusts his brother again. The guards pass the chain attached to Fili's shackles to Kili and give him the key, and Kili leads him straight out of the mountain. No one tries to stop them.

It's dark. The sky is clear, with stars and a new moon. Fili shivers in the chill. It's late spring. The last time he was outside, Bolg was mounting his uncle's body on a pike in the snow, alongside others. Now only skulls balance on the long stakes, everything else having succumbed to decomposition and gravity. It's been over a year.

Kili leads him far, around the side of the mountain and out of sight of the gates. Fili wonders what he's playing at, but doesn't dare ask. Finally Kili sets down the basket and lantern and pulls the key out of a pocket. Without needing prompting, Fili holds up his wrists.

“Bumazat has birthed triplets,” Kili tells him as he unlocks the shackles. “The first was born without trouble, but the other two had to be cut from her. She's fighting for her life as we speak.” He drops the shackles to the ground and looks Fili in the eye. “If she dies, Bolg will kill you. If she lives he will ask her permission to kill you, or she may kill you herself.”

Fili swallows. “What are you going to do about it?”

“Help you escape, obviously. But you won't be going alone.” He picks up the basket again. “The oldest is healthy, but these two will probably not survive here. They need to be raised among dwarves.”

He picks up the lantern and angles the light so that Fili can finally see what's in the basket. It's two of the ugliest faces he's ever seen, wrapped in blankets and topped by pale fuzz. “What's wrong with them?” Fili grumbles. “They seem healthy enough.”

Kili crouches down and sets the basket on the rocks so that he has a free hand to flick back the top of the blankets. The babies' uncovered torsos merge together, joining and ending with one pair of hips, one pair of legs. He pulls the blanket back over the deformation. “Dwarves coddle children with difficulties like this. Orcs don't,” he explains. He then whistles sharply, startling Fili. “The orcs are used to me leaving the tunnels to pray over newborns. I told them that there was a special prayer and ritual for conjoined twins and that it would take a long time. It should buy you enough time to make it to the Iron Hills if you ride hard.”

“Ride? Don't tell me you have a pony hidden somewhere.” Fili jumps and wonders if he needs to eat his words when the answer is the sound of rocks skittering and two shadowy figures coming into view.

“Not a pony, no,” Kili answers wryly. “ _Narnûlubat, Ashthûn_.”

The shadows form into an older orcling and a warg. “ _Narhonuga, Krank_.”

“ _Narfik_. Sorry Fili, but it's the best I could do on such short notice.”

The orcling scratches the warg's ears. “ _Narbroshan, Starkok. Shakropat_.” He then disappears back into the dark, leaving the warg.

Fili then tilts his head at Kili. “But they'll notice, when you go back without me.”

Kili rubs at his belly. “I'll take the punishment. And if our luck holds, no one will suspect Ashthûn was involved. I need you to not argue with me on this and just go.”

Fili wants to ask Kili why he didn't help him escape earlier. He wants to know what Kili's answer would be so _badly_. But now is not the time, and he sincerely hopes that he never sees Kili again, if only because that would mean Fili's certain death. So he just nods. “How am I supposed to ride a warg while carrying that basket with only one good hand?”

Kili carefully lifts the conjoined orclings out. “You won't be carrying the basket. Lean backwards a tiny bit.” Confused, Fili does so. It's clearly tricky for Kili to carry the orclings and support their heads with his stomach, but he carefully holds them against Fili and helps him place his arms, using his slight angle as an aid for head support. He then reaches into the basket again and pulls out a long length of cloth. “I'm going to strap them to your chest. You'll be able to hold their heads in place with your right arm, and hold onto Starkok with your left.”

It takes some maneuvering, and by the time they are done Fili's weakened legs are shaking again. The wrapping holding the orclings to his chest does keep out a bit of the chill. Kili helps him mount the warg.

“Ride,” his brother says. “I'll hold them off as long as I can.”

“Come with me,” Fili says, but knows the answer before he even opens his mouth. Kili purses his lips and shakes his head.

“Go.”

* * *

Fili rides. He rides the rest of the night and the whole of the day, and then well into the next night, until he feels like he's about to fall off and the warg itself refuses to go any farther. The orclings cry on and off, but he has nothing to give them and so tries to ignore them. Fili is wary when he slips from the warg's back, but the orclings are silent and he drifts to sleep against his will.

It's still dark when he wakes to their cries. He rouses the warg and they continue on. They stop only once more, at a stream where Fili drinks and manages to get the orclings to drink a little as well. He sleeps there too, briefly.

The Iron Hills are in sight on the third day, and by high noon he knows they can see him too. He doesn't stop to wonder what it must look like to them, a lone warg rider barreling towards the gates. The babies have been suspiciously silent for too long. He's not _worried_ about them, really, but Kili entrusted them to his care and so he's responsible for the little monsters.

A hissing bolt shoots the warg out from under him and he goes flying. He tucks into a roll, taking the brunt of the impact and protecting the orclings. He lies there for a moment, breathing, and wondering if he'll get shot at again if he moves. He has no way of knowing the answer but still uncurls and staggers to his feet, weakened even more by hunger and exhaustion. He starts walking.

The gates open and a squad of armored dwarves run out to meet him. They slow, then stop as they realize who he is. One of them takes off their helmet. It's _Dwalin_. “Mahal,” Dwalin breathes. “A miracle.”

Fili doesn't feel like a miracle.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY ENDING? WE JUST DON'T KNOW.
> 
> I REGRET THIS SOMEWHAT.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Archaeologists working at the ancient dwarven city of Belegost have uncovered the find of the decade: a chest of legible documents, dating from Belegost’s second occupation after The First War of Dwarves and Orcs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated G

PRICELESS FIND AT BELEGOST EXCAVATION – LINDON TIMES  
Jan. 29, 4014

Archaeologists working at the ancient dwarven city of Belegost have uncovered the find of the decade: a literal treasure chest, dating from Belegost’s second occupation after The First War of Dwarves and Orcs. But what was inside wasn’t gold or jewels, but paper.

“It’s just incredible,” enthused head archaeologist Beren Liirson. Perfectly preserved in an airtight chest, the papers are letters received by the original owner of the chest, detailing everyday life around the turn of the 30th century AV. “As simple objects they’re worthless,” Dr. Liirson explained, “But as a source of knowledge, we have nothing else like it. It’s like finding a MyArda page from over a thousand years ago.” Each letter is dated, addressed to a dwarf named Petrur, and from a number of different correspondents. Currently archaeologists are working on organizing the letters by sender and putting together a timeline of events for each of them, as well as significant occurrences in the society of Belegost itself.

But while each of the letters is valuable in and of itself, there is one topic in particular that Dr. Liirson is especially interested in. “As soon as I realized that 2909 was covered, I knew we potentially had something even bigger than we initially thought.” He explained that he was hoping to find information on the elusive Princess Lis, who, other than an empty tomb in Belegost, we know next to nothing about. “I was hoping to find a reference to her funeral, perhaps how she died. Anything really. That wasn’t what we found,” Dr. Liirson said with a massive grin. The archaeologists found reference to a death in the royal family all right, but not hers. The death reported was King Fili I’s, who existed as an archaeologist’s headache until testing of his remains fourteen years ago revealed that he was in fact female, thus explaining references to him marrying a male dwarf and bearing children. “Which is baffling, because he is still present in a significant way, he ascends the throne, he has children, we have his tomb in Erebor.” Dr. Liirson is hopeful that careful study of the letters will reveal why the wrong death is given. “It’s a really exciting time here, and there’s going to be big things coming out of this find. This may just make our knowledge of the time period even more contradictory, but I’m crossing my fingers that we can come up with an explanation.”

* * *

CEREMONIAL REINCARNATION IN DWARVEN HISTORY – an excerpt, originally published in volume 64 of the Journal of Archaeology, July-December 4019

“While less well recorded than the previous examples, it would be remiss to exclude King Fili I and Princess Lis, the case of which initially postulated the idea that dwarves practiced ceremonial reincarnation outside of the concept of Durin the Deathless. However while not as well recorded, the evidence that this is a case of ceremonial reincarnation is conclusive.

“Firstly, the language used to refer to Fili and his spouse in many primary sources. Both are referred to as male consistently, yet Fili is referenced as having borne children. When his remains were tested and found to be that of a dwarf female, it was taken to be evidence of transgenderism (Pollock). There is another contradiction in the language though. Multiple times from records dating after Lis’ death we have references to Fili being younger than Prince Kili, the middle sibling, by an unknown amount, despite the fact that we have definitive birthdates which put Fili as being five years older than Kili (Baggins, Greenleaf, Masters et al, Nipvarison).

“Secondly, we have the letters uncovered by Dr. Beren Liirson at Belegost in January of 4014. Several of them make reference to the death of Fili in 2909, 110 years before his actual known death in 3019. Subsequent letters from the same authors continue to refer to him as a living person. Another letter dated 2923 is the oldest known reference to Fili being younger than Kili. While none of the letters make any reference to Lis’ believed death in 2909, she disappears from their narrative after the reported death of Fili in that year.

“While it is a significant snag that we do not have the remains of Lis in order to test them, the evidence we do have for this being a case of ceremonial reincarnation is conclusive.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I started thinking about what sorts of situations could occur where Fili was born before Kili but considered younger than him. First I was playing around with magic, maybe something Sleeping Beauty-esque where he doesn't age while asleep. Then it was a cultural thing, maybe he was in a coma and dwarves don't consider aging to happen in that sort of situation. Or some other cultural situation, maybe where a number of his birthdays didn't count for some reason. (I thought a _lot_ about possession by dwarf oracle. And "winning" the noncon broodmare lottery, because I will always be obsessed with pregnancy.)
> 
> Then I thought of Fili being replaced by someone younger. I ended up all psyched to write a tragic story where the three of them are captured by orcs and Kili and Lis are forced to watch Fili get eaten and are super traumatized by it and Lis decides that she doesn't want to be Lis anymore. But then I was like, "What if I included part of a news article at the end?" and then it was all future academia.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He is so _hungry_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated T for exorcism-related torture.  
> TW for wrist slitting.

He feels himself getting weaker, light headed, pinned down by the creature, blood draining, but it can't end like this. He pushes ineffectually at his attacker and he feels it, a weapon, tucked into clothes. The creature is so intent on its meal that it doesn't notice Fili taking the dagger and stabbing it in the neck, blood gushing down the dagger, down his hand and arm, dropping through air onto his face, lips.

Fili pushes his attacker off and presses a hand to his wound. He takes the headscarf from his attacker and presses it to the injury, fighting the blood flow. It slows, and he stops feeling the effects of blood loss. When he peels away the sodden scarf, he is surprised at what he finds. It must not have been as serious as he thought.

* * *

He is hungry.

He and Kili are sharpening their blades. He can't wait for dinner. He hopes it is delicious. He hopes there is a lot of it. He has never felt satisfied lately.

He is hungry.

“Fuck!”

He looks up from his knife to see that Kili has dropped his own and has a finger in his mouth. “Cut yourself?” he asks.

Kili nods, finger still in mouth. He pulls it out and inspects the wound. It's deep, for a finger. Blood wells. “Ow. Pass me a clean rag, would you?”

He is hungry. There's blood on the knife on the floor, blood on the finger. He grabs a clean rag without really looking and hesitates, holding it.

“Fili?”

He is hungry. He smells food.

“Fili, are you going to give that to me or not?”

He is hungry, and he smells food.

There's fighting. Screaming. And then he's eating. And it's so good. Delicious. Then he's getting pulled away from his meal and he snarls, scratching and kicking, noises shouting at him, blood dribbling out of his mouth. Others fighting him for his meal, but they can't have it, it's his. They wrestle with him, three of them, and his arms are pinned behind his back and tied like that, a piece of wood is shoved between his jaws keeping them open, rough splinters digging into his lips, and it's tied in place with a piece of cloth around his head. He can't bite, can't scratch, so he kicks, but his enemies dodge his feet.

His last sight before they knock him out is his meal, where it lies motionless on the ground in a puddle of blood.

* * *

He comes to outside in the bright, hot sun, completely naked. He is up on a cross, arms bound apart by metal chains that burn wrapped around his wrists. More burning chains are around his ankles, keeping his feet on the minuscule ledge. There is a piece of wood in his mouth, the splinters digging into his lips, kept in place with a piece of cloth tied around his head.

He doesn't know how he got here. He remembers sharpening his weapons with Kili. How did he get here? Where is Kili? He thinks he might have eaten something. Was he drugged? And what about Kili?

The image hits him abruptly. It is Kili, lying motionless on the floor of their home, covered in blood. Tears hit his eyes and a scream comes out of his throat muffled by the wood. No. No. No. Not Kili. It can't be. No. His stomach lurches, and vomit comes up, but only a little gets past the wood to dribble down his chin and drip to the ground, and he is forced to swallow the metallic bile back down.

He looks down. There is red on the ground. He doesn't know why. He doesn't know if his brother is dead. He doesn't know what he is doing here, tied to this cross by chains that burn. And he is alone, with no one to hear his muffled screams.

He is alone and naked and hot.

* * *

He is very hot. His skin burns. Sometimes a dwarf comes, looks at him, and leaves. Sometimes he recognizes them. He tries to communicate with them, tries to get them to tell him what happened, but with the piece of wood in his mouth he can do nothing but scream and moan, and they never say anything.

And he is hungry.

* * *

He does not know how long he has been here. He burns, he is starving. He is weak and sagging in his bonds, straining his shoulders but he can barely feel it. All he can feel is the sun and the hunger. He tries to eat, tries to turn his head and bite into the burnt food to either side, but the wood in his mouth stops him.

Food comes. It leaves. Then it comes back. Oh, so much food. He is so hungry. They approach him. Some of them have weapons. He wants to eat them, he needs to eat them. He is starving to death, and food is here. They unwrap the chains that burn and he lurches down to be caught by the food. He wants to eat, but there is a piece of wood in his mouth, and they are holding him down, and he is too weakened to fight. Too weakened by hunger and heat.

They take the wood out of his mouth and stick something metal in, something that keeps his mouth pried open. A second metal implement grasps one of the teeth he uses for eating. He fights but his head is held firm, and it is agony but he is too weak to do anything but keen and cry as the tooth is pulled. His enemies pulled three more teeth and he tastes food before they pull both implements out and let him close his mouth. But his jaw has been held open for too long and is stiff, and he cannot close it without more pain. He is burning and bleeding and hungry and everything hurts.

One of his enemies sticks his fingers down his throat and he tries to bite them but he can't, his teeth for eating are gone. Instead he gags. It has been too long since he last ate for anything more than stomach acid to come up. They turn him on his side as he vomits onto the dirt.

They force him to drink something, pour it in his mouth and pinch his nose and hold his jaw shut until he swallows. Then they chain him up on the cross again and leave him alone in the burning hot sun.

* * *

Flies gather. They flock to the diarrhea streaking his burnt legs and the wood of the cross. He is lightheaded. His mouth is dry. It hurts. He is so hungry. He has tried turning his head and biting the burnt food to either side, but his teeth for eating are gone.

One of his enemies comes. They go. Then they come back, lots of his enemies. One of them walks up, wrinkling his nose at the smell of diarrhea and dried piss. His enemy says something, but he can't hear him over the buzzing of the flies. He tries to snarl, to hiss, but his throat is so dry, and he is so weak. So hungry, so hot. His enemies unbind him and lay him down on ground that is unsoiled. He is too weak to even move as they take his wrists and slit them. It hurts. He watches with detachment as he bleeds out into the dirt.

Something hits his lip. He thinks it might be food. He darts his tongue out. It is not food. It is salty. That is his last thought.

* * *

Fili fights to open his eyes, and when he does he is staring at the ceiling of his bedroom. Mahal, he feels like he has the sunburn of an Age. His jaw is sore and his mouth feels funny and his wrists hurt and his chest burns in a way that is distinctly different from the rest of him. His stomach feels like it's folding in on itself and his mouth feels like a desert.

“Fili?”

His mother comes into his line of sight. She is crying but she is smiling. “Oh thank Mahal,” she says when their eyes meet. Fili tries to answer her, but he doesn't get any further than opening his mouth. He is parched. Dis holds a glass of water to his lips and helps him hold his head up to drink it.

That's when Fili realizes that his mouth feels funny because all four of his canine teeth are missing. He drinks like he has never tasted a drop before in his life, and is deeply disappointed when Dis cuts him off. He reaches up and grabs at her sleeve. “That's enough now. We can't make you sick,” she chides.

Fili isn't paying attention. He's staring at his wrist. It's been bandaged. He lifts his other arm and sees that it is the same. He... had tried to kill himself? Why would he do that? He doesn't remember anything-

 _Kili_.

Kili died, Kili is dead, his brother bled out on the floor of their home and he tried to kill himself in his grief and leave their mother without either son, and she is crying because she nearly lost both of them and oh Mahal his brother is dead-

“Fili!” Dis grabs him. “Fili, calm down!”

“ _Kili_ ,” he chokes and that is when he realizes that he is hyperventilating.

“Kili will be fine, just calm down!”

Fili stares at her, sure she is lying. “But the blood, it was everywhere, so much blood-”

“He does have severe blood loss but he will recover. He'll be fine. Just calm down Fili. Calm down. What do you remember?”

Fili closes his eyes and takes several deep breathes, trying to remember what happened. “I don't... Nothing. Just Kili.” He opens his eyes and looks at Dis. “Why did I slit my wrists?”

His mother shakes her head. “You didn't. They were slit by... someone else. Thorin will explain, when he gets home. Thorin will explain everything.”

* * *

Thorin had slit his wrists.

There had been a leech possessing him. He had attacked Kili. They had done everything they could to drive it out, use its weaknesses against it. But it was a strong leech. A very strong leech. He had been hung in the sun, bound by silver chains, starved, purged. But it hadn't been enough. The leech had held on.

Thorin had been desperate. Anything to not have to kill Fili. It was decided that Fili's wrists would be slit in order to bring him to the edge of death. As soon as the leech fled its host they could stop the blood flow. If not... then there was nothing to be done to free him of the leech. What would have followed would only have been common sense.

“At least it worked,” Fili said when Thorin was finished speaking.

“It didn't.”

“But you just said I would have bled to death if it hadn't,” Fili said slowly.

“I couldn't let it happen,” Thorin admitted quietly. “What was I supposed to do? Return to Dis and tell her that I had killed her son?” Thorin shook his head. “No.” He very gently touched Fili's chest, where the burn felt different. “We sealed it.”

“Sealed it?” Fili could feel the panic rising, flashing images of the only thing he remembered, Kili lying on the floor by all appearances dead. “What do you mean? How?”

“There's a tattoo here now, keeping it trapped.” Thorin pulled his hand away. “It's still inside you, but now it has to rely on its own strength, which is negligible. It can no longer use yours, and instead has to fight it.” Thorin sighed. “That doesn't mean it's not dangerous. That's why you can't see Kili until you're stronger. He's injured, the leech is starving, and you are very weak from the attempts to drive the leech out. It's a potentially dangerous combination.”

Fili looked down at his lap. “So you're saying I may lose control and attack someone again at any time.”

Thorin smiled. Fili thought it was supposed to be reassuring. “No, you just need to take precautions. Avoid any amount of blood if you're injured or ill. And the tattoo must never, ever be damaged.”

* * *

Thorin offers to make Fili new canines out of gold, but he declines. He'd rather not take the chance. Thorin shows him the ones that Oin pulled. They're too sharp to be a dwarf's. Fili can't look at them. Thorin makes the canines into pendant necklaces. He keeps one for himself and gives the other three to Dis, Kili, and Dwalin. Kili stops wearing his as soon as he realizes just how much Fili is repulsed by them.

Kili has a ragged scar at the junction of his neck and shoulder. He flinches when Fili gets close without him realizing it. He apologizes every time, says he doesn't mean to. Fili says it's okay, he understands. He tells him to wear the necklace so that he feels safe. Kili refuses. He says he's not going to be afraid of his brother.

Eventually, Fili accepts the gold teeth.

* * *

The sounds of war surrounds him. Everywhere there is blood and death. The plains before Erebor are a battleground. He's tiring, and sluggish, and doesn't bring his sword up to block fast enough. An orc's sword slices across his chest and he falls backwards.

“ _Fili!_ ” Kili shouts, and next thing he knows the dwarf is leaning over him. Blood is running down the side of his face from a cut at his temple.

He is so _hungry._

**Author's Note:**

> My Tumblr: barukkatharine.tumblr.com


End file.
